


Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of, His and Mine Are the Same

by amethystkrystal, SmearedBlackInk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Illustrated, Infinity Stone Soul World (Marvel), M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-16 03:11:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16077146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystkrystal/pseuds/amethystkrystal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmearedBlackInk/pseuds/SmearedBlackInk
Summary: When Steve is shown a way inside the Soul Stone, he reunites with Bucky and promises he won’t rest until he finds a way to save him.But the Stone holds malicious power beyond what anyone could have imagined, and while inside it, Steve and Bucky are forced to confront the ghosts of their shared past. As they rediscover their feelings for each other, Steve is torn between the strange dimension that holds the man he loves and the real world that desperately needs Captain America.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you times a million to my fantastic artist SmearedBlackInk! She has been so so amazing and encouraging through this whole process, I cannot express my appreciation enough. Please send her some love on her [art Tumblr](https://semi-stable100yearoldman.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Also thanks so much to the Captain America Big Bang mods! You guys were so helpful and organized and made this such an awesome experience.
> 
> Come say hello to me on Tumblr: [amethystkrystal](https://amethystkrystal.tumblr.com/)

 

PART I

 

**October 1939**

Steve held out the envelope of cash. It wasn't much, but it was everything his Ma had been able to leave him.

Bucky just stared at him, eyes narrowing. Steve nudged the envelope closer.

"This should cover a few months rent."

"Aw, c'mon Steve. Don't start with this shit again. How many times do I have to tell you? I can pay the rent just fine on my own, so will you just sign up for the damn classes already and don't forget your old pal Bucky when you become a world famous artist, alright?"

They fought about it eight more times before coming to a compromise: Bucky would let him pay for groceries and Steve would enroll full time in art school.

In that first fall semester, he learned a lot: how to blend oil pastels, what size brush to use when, the proper way to draw perspective. But not all of his new knowledge had to do with drawing and painting technique. Auburndale Art School attracted all types, and after a few weeks, Steve found himself befriending people with beliefs and lifestyles that would most certainly have been quashed in the Irish Catholic neighborhood he lived in. Activists. Radicals. Queers. The kind of people who were unashamed to vocalize thoughts and feelings Steve was only just starting to recognize in himself.

It all came to a head near the end of October when they started using nude models in his figure drawing class.

The first model was a brunette woman with a curving waist and large breasts to match. As she posed, Steve pointedly focused his attention on getting all the lines right in his drawing as he tried to _not_ think about the growing tightness in his pants. But, obvious embarrassment aside, there was nothing out of the ordinary about that drawing session.

It wasn't until the next day that Steve's entire world would be upended.

The model then was man with curly dark hair and olive skin. Italian. Or maybe Greek. Regardless, he was handsome, and the moment Steve laid eyes on him he knew he wanted that man the same way he'd wanted the woman the day before. Shame and terror rose up in him, as they always did in moments like that, but he was well practiced at staving them off, quelling his feelings at once and latching on to any justification he could come up with.

 _You're an artist,_ he told himself. _Of course you appreciate the human form._

The drawing session went without incident, but afterwards, as Steve was packing up his things, he noticed one of this classmates and the model -- now clothed, thank God -- were standing close together and grinning at each other as they spoke in soft voices.

Steve greeted them as they walked by. "You two know each other?"

"Oh yeah," said his classmate (Andrew, Steve remembered his name was). "This is Michael. My-- roommate."

There was the barest hint of a loaded pause before Andrew said "roommate", and in a moment so short he might've just imagined it, Steve swore he saw the pair share a knowing look, the edges of their mouths quirking up in conspiratory amusement.

It took a moment for Steve to realize what was going on.

Whenever he thought about it, Steve could only conjure negative associations for men who went with other men. Perverts, they were called by the folks in his neighborhood. The things Steve sometimes caught himself imagining were only for hurried encounters in dark alleyways or dingy bars on less-than-reputable streets. It was dirty, shameful, _wrong_.

But... Steve couldn't see anything disgusting in the warm, fond way Andrew and Michael looked at each other, and suddenly something like an epiphany came over him and he was left feeling giddy and nauseous and terrified all at once. He hurried out of the classroom.

When he arrived back at the apartment, he found Bucky outside leaning against the rails of the fire escape, halfway through a cigarette. (He used to smoke in his apartment all the time, but he'd taken to smoking outside since Steve and his pathetic lungs moved in.) Tall and muscled with soft blue eyes and an infectious smile, Bucky's handsomeness was not lost on Steve. But, most days, he could ignore it. It was _Bucky_ afterall. Bucky, who used to read him stories when he was too sick to get out of bed, who knew how he liked his hot dog when they went to Coney Island, who slept on the couch and made Steve take the bed because he knew anything else would be bad for his crooked spine. He didn't want _Bucky_ on his knees in a some back alley. He wanted --

The realization of exactly what he wanted hit him like a freight train.

He wanted to kiss Bucky, slow and sweet and loving. He wanted to hold his hand while they walked along the Coney Island boardwalk. He wanted to go to bed with their bodies tucked close together and wake up still in his arms the next morning.

Bucky took a drag of his cigarette and grinned at him. "Hey pal, how was class?"

"Fine," Steve managed to say, as if he hadn't just had the earth-shattering revelation that he was in love with his best friend.

 

 

 

**____________**

 

**2018**

Steve fell to his knees at the water's edge, listening to the chanting and percussion in the distance. The song that played -- slow, reverent, _mourning_ \-- felt particularly in tune with the despair that had been welling inside him for days, ever since Thanos snapped his fingers.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill as he remembered Bucky calling out in terror and confusion, taking a few shaky steps toward him before he pitched forward and dissolved into nothing. And then the horrors had just gone on. Sam nowhere to be found. Vision's ashen body, discarded and broken beside Wanda's remains. T'Challa and hundreds of Wakandans leaving a nation to grieve. Billions of others around the world…

Lost in his own thoughts, he almost didn't hear Natasha when she approached.

"How'd you find me?" he said, standing.

"You weren't at the ceremony; I figured you were saying goodbye to him in your own way."

Steve shook his head, though he couldn't fault her assumption; he was sitting by the small stretch of lake just outside Bucky's hut. He straightened up, setting his jaw. "I'm not saying goodbye to anybody. We're getting them back."

Natasha gave him a long, considering look. "Shuri and Thor have been talking, trying to piece together what she learned from studying the stone in Vision and everything he knows about Infinity Stones. Believe me, we're gonna try, we're really gonna try. But Steve," she said in a careful tone. "You have to be prepared for the possibility..."

Steve was well acquainted with loss. He'd woken up after seventy years to a world where everyone he knew was dead. He'd held Peggy's wrinkled hands as she struggled to remember him. He'd watched Bucky go to war, watched him fall from a train, watched him step into a cryochamber. But this… the sheer enormity of it all was overwhelming. The entire population was wracked with sadness and terror. Governments were in turmoil as those who saw the opportunity rushed to fill power vacuums. Under the cover of mass chaos and confusion, lootings and vandalisms were taking place in cities all over the world. The world needed the Avengers more than ever, and yet, for Steve, a single mission took priority over anything else.

"We're getting them back, Nat. I won't prepare for any other outcome."

 

**____________**

 

**November 1940**

Amazingly, even though Steve felt like his entire existence had been flipped upside down once he realized he was in love with Bucky, life went on. It jarred him a little, how something fundamental inside him had undergone a complete seismic shift, and yet the rest of the world was still just the same. People still huffed in disgust at "those sick inverts", and Bucky still went out dancing with girls every week. Steve had no choice, really, but to pretend things were just as they'd always been.

In some ways, it was easy. So much of the intimacy Steve craved already existed between him and Bucky. They lounged on the sofa together on lazy Sunday afternoons, legs in each other's laps as Steve worked on his sketches and Bucky sprawled out reading the funny pages. Bucky would tend to his cuts and bruises with gentle hands and a fretful look whenever he got in fights. Steve cooked dinner for both of them every night, and always made Bucky's favorite stew whenever he worked a late shift at the docks. Most days, Steve could convince himself that was enough, that he'd be happy the rest of his life just as long as he had Bucky by his side, even just as his best friend.

But some nights, Bucky would come home late, stinking of alcohol and perfume, with his shirt halfway unbuttoned and lipstick staining his flushed face. The sight of Bucky's sated, dopey smirk as he stumbled through the door was enough to make Steve sick with hopeless longing and bitter covetousness. Sure, things were just fine now, but someday one of those girls Bucky took out would stick around, someday Bucky would be _married,_ and that would be the end of the small slice of happiness Steve had claimed for himself, living with Bucky in their apartment. 

Eventually, Steve came to see his feelings for Bucky as just another addition to his long list of chronic ailments. Like with his bad lungs and arrhythmic heart, he'd probably be stuck feeling this way for the rest of his life, and though there were occasional flare ups -- episodes of such desperate, acute _want_ that would bring him to tears-- for the most part, he could handle it. Like asthma attacks and chest pains, being in love with Bucky was _manageable._

Until it wasn't.

Steve was three months into his second year of art school when a brutal chill settled over their neighborhood, and it seemed everyone had caught either pneumonia or strep throat. Steve, of course, came down with both at once.

It started with the coughing, which wasn't unusual in and of itself; whether it was from allergies or the cold or just his shitty lungs trying to fight a losing battle against the city smog, Steve was always coughing for one reason or another. But then came the swelling. And the fever. And the chills. And the aches. That's when Bucky insisted he stay in bed for the day. For once in his life, Steve didn't argue, and that was a sign all by itself something was seriously wrong.

So, while Bucky went to work, Steve spent the day in bed. He was a hurting, shivering, delirious mess. His muscles ached something fierce. His throat was sore and inflamed so bad he was almost afraid it had swollen shut. Each breath he took felt like a Herculean effort as his abused lungs strained for air. His head throbbed, and when his fever started to spike later that evening, his thoughts became muddled and confused.

At some point, someone pressed a cool washcloth to his forehead and he slurred, "Ma?"

"No, Steve, it's me. Bucky."

 _Bucky._ Hot tears spilled from his eyes right then, because Bucky was there and taking care of him with a soothing voice and gentle touches and Steve _loved_ him so much.

But if Bucky was there, that meant his Ma wasn't and he missed her more than anything. He started crying even harder.

"Hey, hey, Steve, are you alright? What's wrong?"

 _Everything!_ he wanted to scream. His body that attracted illness like a magnet. His heart that harbored so much hopeless, maddening love for his best friend. And now it was all bleeding together, his mortifications at both. He hated that he was like this and he hated that Bucky had to see him like this, that he had to take care of him like this. He couldn't stop his crying now, delirious with fever and unable to contain his shame and pain. The tightness in his chest was getting worse; it felt like daggers everytime he managed to take a breath. He started gasping in shallow, staccato bursts.

Bucky took him by the arms and pulled him upright, setting him against the headboard. He laid a hand on Steve's chest and drew soothing circles with his fingertips, looking terrified. "You're alright. I've got you. Just breathe for me."

Pain exploded in his chest, his throat, his head. He felt about to pass out, dizzy from lack of air. _I'm gonna die_ , he thought, really, honestly believing it. He looked at Bucky -- worried, caring, _beautiful_ Bucky -- through his blurring vision, and he knew he couldn't die without--

Before he even realized what he was doing, he grasped the front of Bucky's shirt and pressed their lips together in a frantic, ungainly motion.

He blacked out just as he came to the hazy awareness that Bucky was kissing him _back_.

 

 

 

*

Hours later, Steve woke up in a hospital with Bucky sitting at his bedside.

He sat up weakly and rasped, "You know we can't afford this."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, but he looked too relieved at seeing Steve awake to convey any real annoyance. "You stopped breathing _and_ passed out. Steve. I didn't have another choice. It's fine, we'll figure it out."

Steve glowered, knowing full well that "we'll figure it out" meant Bucky would probably grovel for extra shifts at the dock and maybe pick up another job if that's what it came to. Steve stared up at the ceiling, remembering the previous night. He really couldn't fault Bucky for being so scared he called an ambulance, the way he'd been gasping, hot and shaking with fever, and then he'd--

Steve's long standing suspicion that Bucky could read his mind seemed to be confirmed by his next words.

"You, uh, you were pretty out of it last night," Bucky said, slowly, deliberately. "The fever must have been real bad."

Bucky was giving him an out, Steve realized. And he almost took it, terrified to risk losing Bucky over a moment of lapsed control. But then he remembered how, when he kissed him, Bucky had pressed his own lips back with matching fervor. He sat up straight, jaw set, and looked at Bucky with something like challenge.

"I meant it when I kissed you."

Bucky's eyes went wide, frozen for a moment before he bolted up and yanked the privacy curtain closed around the bed. " _Christ_ Steve, you wanna say that any louder?"

Steve said nothing, still fixing Bucky with an unrelenting stare. He knew they were right on the edge of the cliff, about to fall headlong into something dangerous and terrifying and thrilling, and there was no backing down now.

Bucky came back to sit at his bedside and took Steve's hand in his, intertwining their fingers. "I meant it too," he whispered, looking just as scared as he had hours ago, when Steve was all but dying in front of his eyes.

*

Later, when they came home to the apartment, Bucky deadbolted the door, closed all the curtains, and they kissed for real. It was deep and slow and sweet, and Bucky's lips on his filled Steve with more life than any breath he'd ever taken.

 

**____________**

 

**2018**

"Steve Rogers requesting landing clearance for Dock 17a."

"Clearance granted. Welcome back, Captain Rogers."

Steve guided the quinjet over Wakanda's capital. He let out a long breath, relieved to see the familiar cityscape and the surrounding expanse of jungle. He and Natasha had spent the past two weeks in D.C, taking down a HYDRA sect that had infiltrated the Pentagon by disguising themselves as aides who'd disappeared after Thanos's snap. It was a grueling op, but it felt good to be _useful_. Fighting a familiar enemy, whose defeat at his hands was all but assured, drove back the helplessness clouded inside him. Still, he was glad to be back in Wakanda, to be where Shuri, Thor and Bruce were working out a plan for saving everyone who disappeared.

As he lowered the jet down onto the landing dock, the air traffic controller's voice sounded again over the comm. "Her Royal Highness Queen Shuri has requested your presence in her lab. A Dora Milaje will escort you."

Steve's heartbeat quickened. He glanced at Natasha sitting in the copilot seat beside him, but she returned his hopeful look with an impassive stare.

Okoye was waiting for them when they descended down the quinjet's ramp. She nodded to them both, not saying a word as they boarded a speeder and made their way to the research facility.

He'd been to the facility a number of times, but as they made their way down the levels to Shuri's personal lab, Steve still stared in awe at the Wakandan technology. Everything was so clean and bright, glowing with soft energy. Bucky had loved it. Everytime Steve came to visit, he'd launch into a tangent about some new tech Shuri had shown him. ( _"They've got these beads, Steve, they're unbelievable. Shuri told me she used them once to drive a car in South Korea without even leaving her lab.")_ Walking these corridors now, Steve missed him so bad it made his chest ache.

At last they reached the set of doors that led to Shuri's lab. Okoye pressed her palm to the panel on the wall and with a low hiss, the doors slid open.

Steve nearly did a double take when he saw Tony Stark standing beside Shuri, both of them bent over a complex-looking holographic diagram.

"Tony," Steve breathed.

Tony looked up and Steve felt fury, relief and guilt roil inside him. Tony's usual lax confidence was gone as he regarded Steve with a wary look. A beat of tense silence passed between them and then Tony cracked the barest hint of a smirk. "I'm sorry, you must be in the wrong place. I think the lumberjack guild is meeting in the next building over."

Steve let out a strangled laugh that came more from relief than humor. He knew they'd have to talk for real, eventually, but Tony making a joke about his beard, that was his version of an olive branch. And Steve would take it.

"Bruce said you went missing when the Black Order attacked New York. What the hell happened?"

"Well it's a long story, but Cliff Notes version? Stowed away on a flying donut trying to save a time wizard, ended up on Thanos's home planet with the most dysfunctional crew I've ever seen -- and I worked with _you people_ for four years --, watched aforementioned crew and wizard turn to dust, and _then_ I was brought back to Earth by this lovely cyborg with daddy issues that put me to shame."

"My name is Nebula."

Steve had been so stunned by seeing Tony that he'd barely noticed the tall blue alien woman who was standing off to the side. Actually, now that Steve looked around, it seemed Shuri had gathered _everyone_. Thor, Bruce, Rhodes...even the talking raccoon that had accompanied Thor and his tree friend.

Tony went on. "So come to find out, half the population is just _gone_. Including Pepper, by the way. So. Here I am."  His controlled expression faltered right then and Steve could see how truly distraught Tony really was. "I brought everything I had on the Mind Stone from when we made Ultron and Vision. Me and the Princess Prodigy-- "

"That's _Queen_ Prodigy to you," Shuri interrupted, throwing Tony an exasperated look. Steve glanced up at the ceiling, shaking his head. The two of them in the same room, it was like planets colliding.

Shuri looked around, addressing everyone gathered. "We've made a development in trying to reverse what Thanos did. We believe that everyone who disappeared is not really dead but instead they were banished to a pocket dimension inside the Soul Stone."  Shuri moved her hand and the hologram turned to a detailed diagram of the Mind Stone. "Between my work on Vision, Stark and Banner's notes, and Thor's mythos, we have a great deal of knowledge about the properties of Infinity Stones." Shuri flicked her wrist and the hologram shifted to an image of a strange plant Steve had never seen before. "This is the Heart-Shaped Herb. It is traditionally consumed by the Black Panther to give them enhanced abilities and allow them to enter the Ancestral Plane."

A second later, the image of the Infinity Stone reappeared on the projection and moved so that it overlayed the image of the Heart-Shaped Herb. The new hybrid image glowed a soft orange. Pausing for a moment before she went on, Shuri spoke her next words with careful weight. "By genetically modifying the Herb to be attuned to the energy of the Infinity Stones rather than the Ancestral Plane, we've created an elixir that should allow the drinker to enter the Soul World."

At Shuri's words, Steve felt a chill run through his whole body. It was 1943 all over again; he was about to charge, reckless and headlong, into the dangerous unknown because Bucky was _alive_ and Steve _had to get to him_. There was no question about it in 1943 and there was no question about it now. He felt suddenly ignited, alight with the feeling of finally having a clear and certain direction. He'd been missing that for too long.

"What the hell are we waiting for then?" Steve demanded. "If we can get in the Soul World, we can look for a way to get everyone else out."

"It is not that simple," Shuri said, giving him a solemn look. "The energy contained within an Infinity Stone is very powerful. No human will survive exposure to that much raw power."

"Could a supersoldier survive it?"

Shuri gave him a wary look, but it wasn't an outright no. Steve went on, "Alright so that leaves me, Thor, and Bruce. Maybe Rocket and Nebula."

"The elixir alone cannot bring someone to the Soul World." It was Thor who spoke this time. "More than any other Stone, the sentience within the Soul Stone is especially selective of who it deems worthy of its power. It will not allow anyone to pass into the Soul World unless their soul is bonded to another already held inside."

Steve's next words spilled from his mouth without a second of thought:

"I can do it."

Everyone stared at him, curious and surprised, but he refused to be cowed by their incredulity. He continued, "Bucky's been my best friend since we were five years old. We fought a war together. Against all odds, we woke up in this century together. Whatever bond the Soul Stone needs, maybe ours is strong enough."

Thor, Shuri and Tony exchanged glances. Finally, Tony leveled him a skeptical look and said, "We don't even know if this juice works. You sure you wanna be the first test subject?"

"Well, being the guinea pig for questionable Stark experiments is kind of my thing, isn't it?"

*

Steve hadn't slept well since Thanos's snap, and that night was no exception. Shuri and Tony had agreed to let him try a small dose of the elixir the next day, and though the palace guest suite had all the comforts he could want, no amount of perfectly fluffed pillows or sheets of absurdly high thread count could relax the tempest in his mind as his foray into the Soul World loomed close. He could imagine a thousand different possible scenarios, but the truth was, nobody had a shred of an idea of what he should expect -- as far as they knew, nobody who entered the Soul World had ever come back out.

Beyond his anxieties about the Soul World itself, Steve couldn't stop thinking about _Bucky_. It was a gamble to assume their bond was strong enough to allow him passage into the Soul World. But, even after spending a lifetime apart, even if they weren't close in the ways Steve secretly wished for, even if Bucky didn't remember, never mentioned the way they used to be...

Steve had to have faith that what they _did_ have was enough. Nobody else knew Steve the way Bucky did. Everything that ever happened to him, Bucky was there. The unending litany of illnesses. His Ma dying. Back alley fights he had no business (and yet every business) starting. Art school. The war. And then, when he woke up seventy years in the future and had to come to grips with the fact that, for the first time in his life, he'd have to learn to live without Bucky, it turned out he was there all along too.

Steve meant what'd he'd said to Natasha all those weeks ago; he never allowed himself  to mourn Bucky, holding fervently to his conviction that they'd find a way to bring the disappeared back. But still, he couldn't deny his sheer relief at the prospect of being united with him. Seeing his face, hearing his voice, knowing for certain he was out there somewhere…

Around 2AM, Steve had enough of staring at the ceiling and descending into spiraling thoughts about entering the Soul World and seeing Bucky again. With the idea of going for a walk to settle his nerves, he got out of bed and made his way down the hall of the guest wing.

As he approached the large window that faced the great expanse of jungle, he saw he wasn't the only one whom sleep seemed to have eluded.

"Trouble sleeping?" he said, stepping next to Tony.

Tony didn't reply and they stood in silence for a moment, both gazing out the window. In the dead of night, there wasn't much to see besides the vague shadows of the trees and the moonlit outline of the massive panther statue that towered in the distance. Tucked away in the wilderness, the stars over Wakanda shone bright and plentiful.

Tony broke the silence, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry about Barnes."

Steve didn't ask whether he was apologizing for what happened in Siberia or expressing his condolences about Bucky being gone now. Instead, he just said, "I'm sorry about Pepper."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw.

"It should me be. Going in there. For her." He rounded on Steve, almost pleading. "I swear to God, Rogers, you gotta find a way out for them. Or I don't know what I'm gonna do."

"We'll get them back Tony."

He gave Steve a pained look and then released a breath. He turned suddenly, walking back to his own quarters. Confused, Steve followed and watched as Tony slid back a panel on the wall and pulled out a large black leather case.

"I _was_ gonna hang this over the fireplace, but the red, white, and blue really clashed with my living room decor so--"

Tony unzipped the case and Steve inhaled a sharp breath at the sight of his shield before him.

 

**____________**

 

**February 1941**

They didn't talk about it, but after Steve came back from the hospital, Bucky stopped sleeping on the couch and they spent their nights together.

During the daytime, nothing changed between them. Nothing _could_ change between them. But that was alright with Steve. Their daily routine was already threaded with affection, embedded there after years of having feelings for each other that couldn't be spoken aloud and therefore had to manifest in actions. They couldn't call each other sweethearts and hold hands on the street, but Steve drew silly comics to make Bucky laugh when his boss was being a hardass and Bucky always set aside a little money every week to take Steve to the pictures.

So in the the daylight hours, everything was exactly the same. But at night, when the sun had set and the door was locked and the blinds were drawn, all their control melted away and they came together, kinetic and inevitable, like magnets being held apart and then released. The first few times were clumsy and awkward, knocking elbows and crashing foreheads as they desperately tried to show each other all the want and passion they'd been keeping inside.

But the weeks went on and as they learned each other's bodies, frenzied clamoring gave way to assured touches. As soon as the last blind was drawn, Bucky would gather Steve in his arms, nudge his thighs ups so his legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, and carry him to the bed. Normally, Steve would loathe being manhandled, but Bucky's strong hands holding them flush together like that drove him wild and Steve would kiss him the whole way to the bedroom.

Then they'd be on each other, exploring with their hands, taking one another apart with their mouths. And afterwards, spent and naked, they'd cling to each other and fall asleep in a mess of tangled limbs.

One night, nearly three months after their first kiss, Steve had his lips around Bucky's cock when he decided to voice a particular desire that he'd been keeping quiet about for weeks. He pulled off Bucky, earning a displeased moan from the other man.

"Oh God don't stop, Steve, please."

Steve hauled himself up and swung a leg over Bucky's waist, straddling him so that Bucky's still-hard cock was pressed against the curve of his ass. He leaned forward and kissed Bucky, deep and heady, smirking a little at how _filthy_ it was that his lips had just been around the other man's cock. He moved his lips away from Bucky's mouth, kissing up along his jawline to his ear. Between kisses, he whispered:

"I want you to fuck me."

Bucky tensed, his eyes going wide. He looked at him-- adoring, lustful, _terrified_ \-- and his hands came up to cup Steve's jaw. "Are you sure?"

Steve rolled his hips, grinding his ass along Bucky's cock. Bucky let out a low moan.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Bucky gasped, throwing a hand over his face. His whole body was flushed red with arousal.

Steve planted a short, tender kiss on Bucky's lips before he got up and went to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a jar of vaseline. He held it out to Bucky. "Here. You gotta open me up."

Bucky stared at him, pupils blown. He took the jar with shaking hands and started slicking his fingers.  "This what they've been teaching you at art school?" he said, voice wavering too much to really make the joke land.

Steve just rolled his eyes, deliberately not mentioning that he actually _had_ overheard that particular bit of knowledge from a couple of fellas who sat behind him in Advanced Oil Painting. He settled onto his stomach and glanced over his shoulder at Bucky kneeling between his spread legs.

"Come on, do it."

Bucky leaned over him, kissing his collarbone, up along his neck. "If it hurts...if it's too much..." he muttered against Steve's throat. "Tell me and I'll stop."

Steve nodded and tilted his head, bringing his lips up to meet Bucky's for a short kiss before Bucky moved away, his fingers trailing down Steve's spine to the cleft of his ass. His finger pressed inside, cautious and exploratory, and Steve let out a low noise at the sensation, at the pain of the stretch but also the warm desire that pooled in his belly, knowing it was _Bucky_ pressing inside him, opening him up.

"You alright, Steve?"

"Fantastic," he panted, and he _was_. He was harder than he'd ever been in his life, cock arched and leaking against his stomach.  "Use another finger."

Bucky let out a shaky laugh at Steve's demanding tone, but he complied. As Steve muttered breathless encouragements and reassurances, Bucky started pressing a little deeper and moving with quicker, more assured motions. When Bucky brushed a spot deep inside him, a sudden, blinding jolt of pleasure shot up his spine and electrified every nerve in his body.

"Oh _God,_ " he choked out. "I'm not gonna-- Buck, you gotta-"

At that, Bucky withdrew his fingers, and Steve groaned at the sudden feeling of emptiness. It didn't last long though; an instant later he felt Bucky pushing inside him, so slow and gentle it was almost agonizing. Steve nearly cried out; Bucky's cock was _much_ bigger than his fingers. But then, when he finally pushed all the way inside, hips flushed against Steve's ass, he brushed that spot again and Steve went dizzy with arousal, overwhelmed with pleasure.

They found their rhythm as Bucky started moving in slow thrusts and Steve rolled his hips in time to meet each movement. Bucky took Steve's cock in his hand, stroking him to that same rhythm, and Steve felt himself drowning in the sensation of it all, in the feeling of _Bucky_ everywhere. His cock inside him, his hand moving along his length, his lips peppering kisses across Steve's back.

"Oh God, Steve, Steve, _Steve!_ " Bucky came suddenly, letting out a strangled moan as he jerked inside Steve. And that was it for Steve, hearing Bucky cry out like that, feeling him finish _inside him_ , it sent him right over the edge and he came a moment later, spilling all over his stomach and Bucky's hand.

Breathless and shaking, they collapsed onto the mattress and clung to each other. Steve felt weightless, like he was going to float away if it weren't for Bucky's arms around him. He rested his head against Bucky's chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath, the rapid flutter of his heart.

"I love you," Bucky said suddenly. It was the first time either of them had said those words, despite the absolute obviousness of it. He looked down at Steve, mouth twisted into a smile though his eyes were wet with tears.  Bucky was scared shitless, and Steve couldn't understand it -- didn't he know what they had was unbreakable, _untouchable_?

Steve reached for Bucky's hand, entangling their fingers and gripping tight. "I love you too."

 

 

 

**____________**

 

**2018**

Steve arrived at the lab early the next morning. Shuri had him lay on a sleek reclining chair underneath a round overhanging device that cast him in soft blue light and measured his vitals, the readouts of which was displayed on an adjacent montor. Everyone who was present at the previous day's meeting was there as well, standing out of the way as Shuri, Tony, and Bruce made last-minute preparations. The elixir itself was held in a massive glass container. It was a brilliant opal color, tinged slightly purple with viscous, glimmering swirls that spun and bloomed like they were alive.

"Are you ready, Steve?" Shuri placed a hand on his shoulder. He looked away from the elixir and realized she, Tony and Bruce seemed to be done with their work and were looking at him expectantly.

Steve nodded. "Let's do this."

Shuri twisted the spout on the elixir's container, filling a tiny vial with barely enough for a sip. She handed it to Steve, careful and without ceremony. He was so used to her playful humor that it was strange seeing her act the serious scientist.

"We'll start with a small amount, just to confirm it works. Take it whenever you are ready. Think about Bucky when you do; it might help you find him in the Soul World."

Steve let out a long breath, steeling himself. He brought the vial to his lips, closed his eyes and thought of Bucky. Bucky at seven years old, barreling across the schoolyard to his defense. Bucky's hand on shoulder-- _I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal_ . Bucky in the war. Bucky in the present they both miraculously made it to. Bucky holding him, kissing him, _loving him_ the way he used to...

Steve felt a pull inside him, like some unseeable force had hooked around his insides and _yanked_ . It lasted only an instant before he was suddenly on his feet, standing in an open field. He stared around in awe; the elixir _worked._

A orange sky spanned above him. There was no sun, no clouds, only a vast vermillion expanse that cast everything in a soft amber glow. He turned around and realized, even in the strange light, he _knew_ this field. It was in Wakanda, outside the capital city and near a small village. Just over the hill should be a small lake, with a tiny hut by the shore.

Steve broke into a run over the hill, and was filled with instantaneous joy when he saw Bucky's hut just where it should be. He surged ahead, shouting.

"Bucky!"

"Holy shit... _Steve_?!"

Bucky stepped out of the hut, squinting like he couldn't believe Steve was really there. His vibranium arm was still attached, but the battle gear he'd been wearing when he disappeared was gone, replaced by a simple, dark red tunic.

Steve, on the verge of relieved tears, bounded forward and Bucky let out a choked noise of amazement before he ran to meet Steve in bone-crushing embrace. They clung to each other for a long while; Steve didn't want to let go, afraid to lose the physical reassurance that Bucky was there, that he was _alive_.

After a moment, Bucky pulled away, though he kept his hands braced on Steve's arms. "Jesus Christ, Steve. Should've known you'd follow me into the fucking afterlife. What the hell did you do?"

Steve let out a sharp laugh. "We're not dead. This isn't the afterlife, it's the Soul World."

Bucky just arched an eyebrow at him.

"It's a pocket dimension inside the Soul Stone. Thanos used the Gauntlet to banish half the universe here."

"Have you been here all this time? Why haven't I seen you?"

Steve gave him a weak smile. "No actually, I uh… Shuri and Tony created an elixir that can let someone enter the Soul World temporarily. I'm here to try and find a way out for you and everyone else trapped here."

Bucky didn't say anything for a long moment, looking like he was just trying to absorb what Steve was saying. Finally, he said softly, "You really think there's a way out of here, Steve?"

"There has to be." Steve said, sure as ever. He turned to look around them. Besides the eerie orange sky, it was exactly like the lakeside in the real Wakanda. In the distance, he could see the hazy skyline of Birnin Zana. He pointed towards it. "Look, if we go to the capital, maybe there's someone in Shuri's lab who can help."

Bucky looked suddenly troubled by that suggestion.

"What's wrong?"

"Are you sure that's Birnin Zana?"

"What else would it be?" Steve squinted. The city was too far away to make out any detail, but it was exactly where Wakanda's capital should be.

"Get a closer look and tell me what you see."

Confused, Steve started walking toward the city, Bucky following him. As they got closer, he realized it was definitely _not_ Birnin Zana. Blocky and close together, those skyscrapers were nothing like the elegant spires that made up Wakanda's capital. There was something familiar about them though, and when Steve realized why, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Oh my _God_."

It was New York. But not the New York Steve had woken up in 70 years after crashing his plane. No, that skyline was _his_ New York, straight out of 1943. He turned toward Bucky, whose distress had disappeared immediately at Steve's exclamation and was now grinning at him, wide and bright. _Their_ New York, right there in front of them.

"There's Wakandans in the village there," Bucky said, pointing over the hill, east of where they'd come from. "I asked, and they see Birnin Zana. I'm the only one who sees New York."

1940s New York City nestled in the Wakandan jungle. That was the world Bucky's soul had forged in this strange dimension. The home he'd come from and the home he was building aknew.

Staring ahead, Steve thought about their old apartment and the cheap luncheonette down the block and the bar where he had his first drink… all the places he never thought he'd see again. Without thinking, he broke into a sprint. Bucky let out a surprised laugh as he followed after him, easily matching his pace. They made it nearly a mile before Steve felt a sudden pull in his chest, just like when he'd first taken the elixir.

He stopped at once, turning toward Bucky and grabbing his arm in a panic. He opened his mouth to explain, to promise he'd come back as soon as he could...

But everything turned to black before the words could come from his lips.

*

Steve woke with a gasp, jerking upright. Shuri and Tony were at his side in an instant.

"You did it," he rasped at them, head spinning. The Wakandan plains cast in orange glow, New York City silhouetted against the strange sky, Bucky alive and whole -- all of it had been as real as the room he was sitting in now. He felt disoriented and vaguely frustrated, like he'd been woken up in the middle of a dream. "It worked. I was _there_."  

"What did you see?" Shuri asked. She tapped the device around her wrist, making it project a small screen that she aimed it at him. A recording. Of course. The whole thing was so fantastical Steve nearly forgot this was a _science experiment._

Steve explained everything. The orange sky. How it was Wakanda but also not really Wakanda, with New York City in the place of Birnin Zana.

"Did you see anybody besides Bucky?" Shuri asked.

Steve knew she must be wondering about her brother; if Bucky had ended up in Soul World-Wakanda, maybe T'Challa was there too.

Steve shook his head. "I didn't see anyone else, but like I said, Bucky mentioned the village near his hut. He told me the people there saw Birnin Zana where it's supposed to be. It seems like everyone who got cast into the Soul Stone just ended up... home."

"What about outside of Wakanda? Do you think you could go anywhere inside the Stone?" Tony asked. Steve could tell by the look on this face that his brain was going a million miles a minute, working through what Steve had just told him and figuring out a plan for what to do next.

"I don't know," Steve said. His voice took on a desperate edge. "I need to go back in. And you have to give me more time."

"We will," Shuri assured him, though her mouth pressed into a tight, worried line. "But it will have to be another day." She waved her hand over a hologram beside her and a large screen appeared, displaying a video of people running in terror as crowd advanced on them, shouting something in a language Steve didn't understand and brandishing rifles. It looked like somewhere on the Border. "Okoye just reported to me that a group Nigerian thieves have attacked the border, insisting we give them Vibranium in exchange for hostage lives. The Queensguard has been dispatched and needs backup."

Steve gave a tense, reluctant nod. He'd seen that Bucky was safe and well, and now the real world needed him. His next visit to the Soul World would have to wait.

 

**____________**

 

**September 1941**

The months after he and Bucky started sleeping together were the best Steve could ever remember. Actual speaking the words "I love you" aloud and hearing Steve say them back seemed to put a crack in Bucky's resolve. Before, he'd only touch Steve in the dark, behind the closed door of their bedroom. But now, he'd sometimes kiss Steve hello after coming home from work or pull Steve into his arms when they sat together on the couch. Bucky always glanced nervously out the window before he did anything, but Steve relished those rare, fleeting moments when Bucky's desire to express his love outweighed his fear of getting caught.

And it wasn't just that his relationship with Bucky that made Steve so happy. Art school was going well; in the summer after his second year he found a gig drawing ads for a department store. The pay was good -- so good that guilt over spending his mother's inheritance on art school finally started to give way to belief he might have a future in the business. Bucky's work was going well, too; he got promoted to a supervisor position which meant he came home with less aches in his muscles and more cash in his pocket.

And so, when the warmth of summer gave way to autumn chill and Steve felt the early signs of bronchitis beginning to settle in his lungs, it was with less dread than usual that he stopped at the pharmacy on his way back from class to pick up medication.

O'Leary's Drug was a staple of their neighborhood, and Steve, with his constant illnesses and proclivity for situations that left him bruised and bloody, probably made up half their business.

As Steve stepped inside, he held the door open for the dark-skinned man coming in with a Coca-Cola delivery.

"Hey Charlie," Steve greeted, and not for the first time, he mused that being on first name basis with the guy who made the soda deliveries was probably a sign he frequented the pharmacy more than any person should.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers." The way Charlie always addressed him -- overly polite in a way that bordered on deference -- never failed to make Steve's gut twist in guilty discomfort.

"Hi Steve!" Clara O'Leary stepped away from the display of candy she'd been stocking. She was the pharmacist's daughter and had gone to high school with the Steve, though she was a year older. With honey blond curls and big green eyes, she'd been one of the prettiest girls in school. Bucky had actually gone steady with her for a couple months during their junior year. It was a strange thing to remember now that he was intimately familiar with the reason none of the dames Bucky dated had ever stuck.

"Oh, Charlie, let me help you bring those in the back!"

"Alright, thank you, Miss O'Leary." Charlie smiled at her and when Clara grinned back, Steve realized with a jolt that he'd seen that look before. It was the same look Bucky gave him when they were at a store or the park or anywhere that wasn't their apartment and Bucky couldn't say it with his words, had to tell it with his eyes -- _I love you_.

Steve blinked, taken aback by the sheer scandal of it. And then his shock dissolved immediately into aching sympathy; he knew all too well what it was to love in the dark like that. As he watched them disappear into the back room, he had barely a moment to dwell on what he'd just seen before a booming voice sounded from the pharmacy counter and pulled him from his thoughts.

"Steven! Let me guess, bronchitis?"

Jim O'Leary was a tall, ginger-haired man with a ruddy face and portly belly. The pharmacy had been in his family for three generations now, and when it came to knowing the seasonal pattern Steve's illnesses, he could give even Bucky a run for his money.

Steve gave a sheepish smile. "I've got lozenges at home for the cough, but I'm all out of stuff for fever."

Mr. O'Leary just nodded and turned to grab a bottle of aspirin from the shelf behind him.

"Oh!" Steve exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "And a pack of Lucky Strikes for Bucky."

"Someone just took the last pack off the shelf, but let me check the back."

Mr. O'Leary set the bottle of aspirin down on the counter, and when he pushed open the narrow door that led to the back room behind him, Steve felt his heart plummet down into his stomach.

Charlie had Clara up against the wall, lips pressed together with their hands caressing each other. They sprang apart in an instant, looking frantically between each other and at Steve and Mr. O'Leary. For a moment, they all stood there, stilled by tension so palpable it had them incapable of speaking, incapable of moving. Steve felt his heart start to race, an awful feeling of dread twisting in his gut, knowing what was about to happen, what this meant for Charlie and Clara.

"You filthy fucking _nigger_!" Mr. O'Leary roared, seizing Charlie by the front of his shirt and throwing him hard against the counter. He raised his fist and brought it down with a sickening _crack_ as it connected with Charlie's face. " _I'll fucking kill you_!"

"Pa, no, stop, please!" Clara was in hysterics, sobbing and trembling as she tried in vain to pull her father away from Charlie. Mr. O'Leary just shoved her away and brought his fist down again and again on Charlie face. With each blow, blood splattered across the counter, pooling onto the floor tile. Steve knew what violent anger looked like -- God knows how many times he'd been on the receiving end of it-- , but this seemed something else entirely. Mr. O'Leary's eyes were wild as he threw punches hard against Charlies skull, into his sides, his stomach, each blow remorseless, coming one after another without pause. Charlie went slack, and awful, inhuman moans escaped from his lips as his head lolled, eyes glazing over.

Steve suddenly found his legs moving him forward. He couldn't just watch this happen. He'd never shied from defending an innocent person, but this especially he couldn't ignore. Not when the injustice of it resonated so strongly with the secret he carried in his own heart.

"Hey!" he shouted, rounding the counter. He grabbed Mr. O'Leary's arm with both hands just as he was about to lay another punch.

The action surprised Mr. O'Leary enough that he actually paused, looking at Steve wide-eyed and manic as he shook with fury. "You saw what he was doing to my daughter and you're gonna defend this fucking nigger?"

"He didn't do anything wrong," Steve said. He tilted his head up and fixed Mr. O'Leary with a challenging stare, stepping between him and Charlie. He thought of Bucky, who hadn't done anything wrong either but still wept with fear the first time they made love. Even if all it did was get him beaten too, Steve _had_ to come to Charlie's defense, had to show him that at least one person in the world saw the injustice being done to him.

Mr. O'Leary just stared at him, unblinking.

"He didn't do anything wrong," Steve repeated.

Mr. O'Leary drew back and punched him so hard, Steve swore he saw stars in the instant before he blacked out.

*

When Steve came to sometime later, he was slumped against a wall outside, a police officer leaning over him.

"You alright, son?" the officer said, crouching down to his level. He looked about middle-aged and had a thick brown moustache.

Steve blinked. His head throbbed and he felt dizzy, vision blurring and tilting. He was dimly aware of the dried blood caking around his nose and mouth. "'m alrigh'," he muttered thickly.

The police officer just raised an eyebrow at him. Steve took a deep breath, trying to focus as he looked around him. He was sitting on the ground just outside the pharmacy and it looked like the place had turned into quite a scene. Half the neighborhood seemed to have shown up, crowded together and watching as police milled about. Mr. O'Leary was being handcuffed while Clara looked on, sobbing.

"Can I have your name, sir?"

Steve turned to the police officer speaking to him. "Steven Rogers."

"Mr Rogers, I understand you were a witness to the assault on Miss O'Leary. Could you please describe what happened?"

Steve forced himself to stand and leveled the officer a hard look. "Nobody assaulted Clara."

The officer huffed out an impatient breath. "James O'Leary has been charged with assault and battery against a Mr. Charles Henson. Mr. O'Leary claims he was defending his daughter after witnessing Mr. Henson sexually assault her. " The officer paused then, giving Steve a meaningful look and he spoke his next words slowly and deliberately. "I just need you to tell me what happened, and we can clear this whole mess up."

Indignant fury filled Steve immediately.

"Nobody. Assaulted. Clara." He spat the words through his swollen lip.

"Mr. Rogers, I'm going to ask you one more time--"

" _Steve_!?"

Steve looked around the officer to see Bucky frantically pushing through the crowd to get to him. He looked shaken and as he got closer, his mouth pursed into a tense line, no doubt noticing Steve's fat lip and the bruises.

"Are you alright!? What happened!?"

Steve kept his gaze on the officer as he answered Bucky's question. "Mr. O'Leary looked about to kill Charlie, so I tried to stop him."

Bucky's expression darkened. The officer just looked irritated. " _Mr. Rogers_. Did you or did you not see Mr. Henson put his hands on Miss O'Leary?"

"No."

"So Mr. O'Leary attacked Mr. Henson completely unprovoked, is that what you're telling me?"

"Yup."

"Mr. Rogers, do you understand if you're lying to me right now you could be charged with obstruction of justice?"

Steve stood straight as he could manage, despite the throbbing pain in his whole body. "Charlie never hurt Clara."

The officer glared at him and a long moment passed in silence as Steve held his gaze, unrelenting. Finally, the officer let out an exasperated noise and turned away, muttering about "fuckin' radical freaks" under his breath.

Steve didn't realize how bad he was shaking until Bucky put a hand on his arm, steadying him. "Come on, let's go home." Steve just nodded, ambling beside Bucky as they trekked slowly back to the apartment. Anger still roiled inside him, so overwhelming he felt practically sick with it.

It wasn't until they were almost two blocks away from the pharmacy that Bucky spoke in a low voice, "Alright, really Steve, _what the hell happened_?"

Steve sighed. "I stopped at the pharmacy after class to buy aspirin and your smokes. Mr. O'Leary went to get a pack of Lucky Strikes from the back room, and when he opened the door, Clara and Charlie -- you know, the colored fella who does the Coke deliveries? -- they were kissing up against the wall."

Bucky let out a sharp breath. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

"So Mr. O'Leary grabbed Charlie and just started punching him. Hard. I swear, Buck, he looked like he was gonna kill him. So I tried to stop him, and well..." Steve winced, gesturing to his bruised and swollen face.

"Christ." Bucky was shaking his head. "Charlie should've known better. A guy like him going after a girl like Clara… that's just asking for trouble."

Steve was actually so jarred by the ignorance in Bucky's words that he stopped walking and stared at him, incredulous. "You're really going to judge them? We don't get to choose who we fall in love with. You of all people should know that."

A stricken, hurt look crossed Bucky's face before it turned to glowering. He didn't say anything else, just turned away and started up walking again. Steve hastened to catch up, and the rest of their walk passed in silence. It wasn't their usual companionable quiet; Steve could feel the tension thick as fog as Bucky strode on, a dark expression on his face as he pointedly avoided Steve's worried stare.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Bucky wordlessly disappeared into the bathroom and emerged a moment later with a cloth and rubbing alcohol. Without needing to be told, Steve sat down on the kitchen chair; this was an old ritual for them. Bucky still didn't say a word as he tended to his split lip and bruises, and Steve was reluctant to break the silence. He knew Bucky's distant gaze meant he was deep in thought about something. It was unsettling, so Steve just tried to let himself be comforted by the familiarity of Bucky's gentle ministrations.

When he was finished, Bucky set the cloth down on the table and finally met Steve's eyes. He inhaled as if bracing himself. "I think," he said very slowly. "I'm going to sleep on the couch tonight."

"What?" Steve blurted. "Bucky, are you mad at me?" He knew Bucky didn't like it whenever he got himself roughed up, but he'd never actually been truly _angry_ at him for it. And he'd never been so angry at Steve that he'd threatened to sleep on the couch.

"No, Steve, I just--" Bucky gave him a pained look. "I think we should stop this fooling around we've been doing."

"'Fooling around'?" Steve repeated. His heart sank, though the feeling lasted hardly a moment before he remembered the things they'd done together, the things they'd _said_ to each other, and the despair quickly gave way to indignance. "Are you kidding? Is that really what you're gonna call this?"

Bucky's gaze dropped to the floor, and Steve suddenly realized Bucky was _terrified_. He should have known; while the encounter with Mr. O'Leary and the police officer had emboldened him, he should have realized it would have the opposite effect on Bucky. Steve softened, reaching out and taking Bucky's hands in his own. "Look, I know you're scared about what happened tonight, but I'm alright. Let's just go to bed, okay?"

It was a long while before Bucky finally looked up, and when he did, Steve saw there were tears forming in his eyes. He gave Steve a tender look, sad and fond at the same time, before he pulled his hands away, suddenly standing.

"I was there, you know, when the police brought Charlie out. He looked half-dead, Steve. His face was all bashed in, there was blood everywhere..." Bucky said the words in a whisper, wincing like _he_ was the one who'd been punched in the face. "What we're doing, it could get us killed. And I just-- I can't do it anymore."

"I'm not afraid of guys like O'Leary or anyone else," Steve said. And he meant it; the idea of losing what he had with Bucky scared him far more than any beating Jim O'Leary could give him.

"Fucking _Christ,_ Steve." Bucky looked to be in actual agony now. "We just need to find a couple of dames. Get married and settle down like normal fellas."

"I don't want some dame, I want _you_!"

Bucky recoiled at that, looking startled by the sudden intensity in Steve's words. For a moment, Steve actually thought he might have broken the other man's resolve.

But then Bucky said, in a low voice, "What if I do? Want a dame, I mean. Want to settle down. Look Steve, this thing between us… it was great. But you had to know it couldn't last forever."

The thing was, Steve actually _didn't_ know that. When he pictured the rest of his life, it was Bucky he spent it with. And he'd thought Bucky felt the same way. His anger was gone now, all the fight in him evaporated; the only thing he could feel was his heart breaking. He blinked back tears, throat tightening.

"Just come to bed, Bucky. Please."

"We can't do this anymore, Steve. I'm sorry."

"So, what, do you want me to move out?" Steve said, hating the way his voice broke.

Bucky's eyes went wide. "Shit, Steve, _no_. Can we just--" He took a deep breath. "Can we just go back to the way things were before?"

Before.

Before what? Steve knew Bucky meant before the fever-addled kiss and confessing in the hospital room, but the origin of what they had between them went back further than that, so far that Steve really couldn't recall a time when he and Bucky hadn't laid devotion and affection into every word, every action.

That's the thing about loving someone your whole life: there is no such thing as _before_.

There was no safe _before_ for them to go back to. Only an after. An after that meant locking away the brightest and most essential truth about himself and pretending it was never there in the first place. Because the alternative was a life without Bucky in it at all, and the prospect of that scared Steve far more.

So, after a moment of silence, Steve found himself nodding and saying, "Yeah, alright, Buck."

 

**____________**

 

**2018**

It was almost a week before Steve could go into the Soul World again. Shuri handed him a vial of the elixir -- nearly full this time -- and he gulped it down in one quick swallow. When he found himself standing in the familiar Wakanda field an instant later, he was relieved. Consistencies couldn't be taken for granted when dealing with a mysterious cosmic artefact.

As he crested the hill, Steve was surprised to see a landspeeder outside of Bucky's hut. Ayo and T'Yana -- two Dora Milaje whom Steve knew disappeared after the snap-- stood guard beside it. Even in this strange world, they upheld their mandates as royal guards, regarding Steve with impassive stares as he passed them to enter the hut.

It was exactly as Steve remembered it from the few times he'd visited in the real world. At first glance, Bucky's hut was just as it appeared to be: a simple, sparsely furnished dwelling. But, over the course of his scattered visits, Steve had come to learn the existence of each of the secret technological wonders it possessed. The open entryway was actually equipped with an illusory forcefield that only dissipated at the biological signature of those Bucky authorized. A panel beside Bucky's bed set the firepit ablaze with the touch of a button. The massive panther mask hanging on the wall could project a holographic screen from its eyes.

In the middle of the hut's single room, Bucky and T'Challa stood together in conversation. They turned toward him as he entered. T'Challa looked stunned by his appearance. Bucky broke into wide grin.

"Holy shit. You came back."

"Told you I'm finding a way out, didn't I?" Steve gave him an affectionate clap on the shoulder and then turned to T'Challa. "Your Highness."

"Captain Rogers," the king said in warm greeting, voice full of disbelieving awe. "Sergeant Barnes told me Shuri found a way to bring you to this place. I did not believe him at first, but I should know by now never to doubt my sister." A sorrowful look crossed his face. "They must have named her queen by now. Tell me, how is she?"

"I won't lie," Steve said. "With half the population suddenly gone… things are a mess out there. But Shuri is strong and smart and your people love her; you should be proud."

T'Challa nodded, not bothering to hide the relief on his face. Bucky looked pleased by the news of Shuri's well-being too; they had grown close while she'd been in charge of his recovery.

"She sent me to try and find a way to bring everyone back to the real world," Steve said. "Have your people found anything out about this place?"

"Very little, I am afraid. From the reports I have gotten, it seems this place is an exact replica of Wakanda. However, we are unable to get in contact with anywhere else in the world. All calls made to lines outside of Wakanda are disconnected. Any electronic messages fail to send. And when I sent my pilots out for reconnaissance, they just see endless jungle outside our borders, all other countries are gone. Field scouts report the same. Besides that, this place seems to just be Wakanda exactly as we know it. Except for this one," He nodded at Bucky. "He tells me Birnin Zana is gone, replaced by the New York City he remembers from long ago."

Steve nodded. "I see the same thing. The Soul World must take the form of 'home' for whoever is inside it. So for you and your people, that means Wakanda. And for me and Bucky..." He trailed off, glancing outside the window. The skyline was just a hazy blur in the distance, but now that he knew what he was seeing, there was no mistaking that silhouette.

T'Challa's expression softening in understanding. "Have you gone to see it yet?"

Steve shook his head. "Last time I was here, the elixir wore off before I had a chance."

"Come then." T'Challa stepped toward the entryway, waving for them to follow him out. "I must return to the palace anyway, and I am curious to see what happens if we approach the city with you both seeing one thing and I see another."

It was a good idea; reality operated differently here and knowing what happened at a location where things seemed particularly fluid might give them information for finding a way out. He and Bucky followed T'Challa out of the hut and into the speeder, Ayo and T'Yana dutifully falling into step behind them.

The traveled across the plains, hurtling past villages and farms and herds of rhino. As they got closer, Steve could start to make out the details of the buildings, the sight so familiar it made his chest ache. Steve couldn't say when the Wakandan roads had given way to the familiar highway, but suddenly they were on Interstate-78, almost at the Holland Tunnel. It was a strange thing to see the familiar highway against the backdrop of the Wakandan countryside.

"Have you been here yet?" he asked Bucky.

Bucky gave him a sad smile, shaking his head. "It was far and I didn't have any transport. Plus nobody else could see it; I was half-sure it was just my cracked head hallucinating."

They plunged into darkness suddenly, having entered the tunnel. Steve turned to ask T'Challa what he was seeing except--

T'Challa was gone.

Ayo was gone.

T'Yana was gone.

The _speeder_ was gone.

It was just him and Bucky, now sitting in the backseat of a yellow cab which was being driven by a mustachioed man wearing a fedora. Steve glanced over at Bucky, who looked just as stunned as he felt.

"Where to fellas?" the cabbie said cheerfully.

To Steve's astonishment, Bucky answered almost immediately: "Red Hook. Verona Street."

Steve couldn't help his grinning.

Bucky just rolled his eyes at him, but Steve didn't miss way the corners of his mouth twitched up into a tiny smile.

Shuri had been able to remove Hydra's programming, but there was nothing she could do about restoring his old memories; those would come back in time and it wasn't a guarantee he would remember everything. In the few years since D.C, Bucky had recovered a good amount, but there were still some blanks, moments when Bucky would stop mid-speech with his brow furrowed until Steve supplied him with the name of his youngest sister or which country they'd been in when Dernier stuck an explosive on a moving truck from the back of Steve's motorcycle. Bucky remembering their old address made him feel more warm than it probably should.

The ride went on and it was exactly as Steve remembered. The buildings were just the same. The cars were just the same. The people--

Steve froze. What the hell were other people doing here? Were they all victims of Thanos's snap? What were they doing in 40s New York City?

"Excuse me," he said to the cabbie. "How long have you been here?"

"Moved here from Jersey in '35," he replied. "Why'd'ya ask?"

"So you didn't just… appear here?"

The cabbie gave him a bemused look. "What do you mean, pal?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Steve stared out the window at the people milling about the streets, in their cars, leaning out the windows… if they weren't victims of the snap, where did they come from?

"I don't think they're real," Bucky whispered to him. "All these people. I think it's just the Soul Stone trying to make this place look like it should, like we remember it."

It made sense, and it was honestly kind of relieving that he didn't need to worry about all these people having been wrenched away from their real lives if they were just projections of his and Bucky's memory.

They crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and as they got further into the borough, closer to their old neighborhood, Steve felt practically assaulted by the nostalgia. Stores, restaurants, homes of the people he knew… Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from blurting "Remember when…?" every five seconds. He didn't want make Bucky feel bad in case he didn't actually "remember when".

It became very quickly apparent, though, that Steve didn't need to worry. Being back in their old neighborhood seemed to have unlocked something for Bucky and recollections poured out of him in a dizzying stream.

"Aw Steve, remember I bought you your first drink at Ollie's and they kicked us out because you upchucked all over those girls?"

"Old Mr. Domino lived there, right? He used to curse at us in Italian when we played stickball too close."

"Hey, that's where Ma used to get her meats!"

On and on Bucky prattled until the cab turned onto Verona Street and Bucky signaled for them to stop in front of a narrow brick building.

"Dollar forty-five," the cab driver said. Steve experienced a brief moment of panic -- he hadn't exactly thought to bring is wallet into the Soul World -- before he suddenly felt a familiar weight in his pocket. He reached in and pulled out his old billfold. Stunned, he paid the fare and he and Bucky stepped out onto the street.

"This place is unreal," he heard Bucky say and Steve turned to see him pulling something from his pocket with a surprised look: the key to their apartment.

An unspoken understanding passed between them, and they didn't go inside right away, taking a moment to just stare at the old building. It was surreal being back on this street, in front of this apartment. Last time he was here, he was colorblind and nearly two feet shorter, but even the new perspective did little to dispel the warm, familiar feeling of being _home_.

Finally, they stepped inside the building and trekked up two flights of stairs to their apartment. It was strange to arrive at the top and not be wheezing.

Bucky gave him a tiny smile before unlocking the door and pushing it open.

"Oh _God._ "

It was exactly the same. Not just the arrangement of the furniture or all their belongings but _all of it_. The smell of cigarettes and pomade and stew. The letters and bills scattered on the kitchen table. Steve's sketchbook on the couch. Bucky's dog-eared pulp novel on the side table.

"Oh God, oh God, oh _God_ " Steve kept saying, moving slowly around, taking in every detail. He moved from the kitchen to the living room to the bathroom in slow steps. Bucky followed behind him, looking too awed to speak.

Finally, they reached the doorway of the bedroom and Steve braced himself for the inevitable onslaught of emotions. This was the room where he'd slept all those years, the bed where he'd laid sick, where they'd kissed and fucked and held each other into the morning. He glanced at Bucky, but the other man didn't seem to be having a particularly strong reaction as he turned the doorknob without pause.

Steve let out a noise that was half a breath and half a sob as he stepped inside. It looked exactly as it would any ordinary day -- an unmade mess of blankets at the foot of the bed, drawers slightly ajar, a belt discarded on the floor. Steve's eyes immediately went to the bed, a battery of memories hitting him without relent. The way Bucky arms felt wrapped around him. The way his breath sounded, strained and glorious, when they moved naked together. The way their entangled bodies cast moonlit shadows on the wall. It was all a lifetime ago, but being there now sliced the wound open raw.

An agonized cry broke the silence, and for a brief moment, Steve feared his broken heart has commandeered his throat and _he'd_ made the noise. But then he turned and looked at Bucky.

His face was drained of color; there was no trace of the excitement and joy he'd possessed earlier. His eyes were fixed on the bed, but his thousand yard stare told Steve he was seeing something else entirely. Without warning, he fell gracelessly to his knees, hitting the floor hard. He pitched forward, shaking.

Steve dropped down beside him at once, hands bracing his arms.

"Buck, what is it? Are you alright?"

Bucky looked up at him, ghostly pale. He took Steve's hands suddenly, gripping them tight.

"This room, this bed, we used to-- Oh god _Steve_."

He flung his arms around Steve's neck, pulling their bodies together in a tight embrace.

"Bucky," Steve began slowly, hands coming up automatically to rub Bucky's back as he trembled in his arms. His heart was pounding so bad he feared it might actually burst from his chest. What they used to be had never come up, whether it was because Bucky forgot or he just didn't want to talk about it, Steve hadn't been sure, but he either way, he knew the conversation would wreck him. So he'd kept silent.  But now, if Bucky was remembering, if it was all coming back to him…

"Bucky, what do you remember?"

Bucky lifted his head up, giving Steve a watery smile that was happiness and sorrow and apology all in one. "We were together. We were in love."

Steve couldn't help the tears that escaped at that, at this part of his life he'd tucked so carefully away now being spoken of again. But if this was coming up again, if Bucky was going to have this memory now, then it was only right that he know _all_ of it, even the awful, painful end.

"We were." Steve drew in an anguished breath. "But you ended it. You wanted to settle down with a dame, live a normal life."

"Oh Steve, you moron," Bucky whispered. He cupped Steve's face in his hands, thumb brushing gently over his jaw. Steve actually let out a sob; it had been over a lifetime since Bucky touched him like that. "I was afraid of O'Leary and all those other assholes who would hurt you if they ever caught us. You would do anything to defend what we had, and I couldn't risk you like that. So I said what I had to, to make you believe I didn't want us anymore. I'm so fucking sorry."

Steve didn't know how to feel, what to say. He thought about all the time they'd lost, all the years he'd spent heartbroken. But despite all that, he didn't think he had it in him to be angry at Bucky for it. Bucky was just a boy then, petrified and thinking he was doing the right thing for them both. Back then, Steve himself had been fearless and unrepentant in his recklessness; could he really blame Bucky for taking such drastic measures to keep them safe? And even if Bucky hadn't made that choice for them, the war would have stolen their happiness anyway. What was done was done. They were different men now, in a different time, in a different world.

"I know it was forever ago," Bucky went on. "I know you moved on with Carter and, well, the other Carter." Despite his tears and shaking, Bucky actually let out a snort of laughter. "But Steve, you gotta know, I never stopped loving you. All during the war. When the Russians had me captured. When I started coming back to myself after D.C.... I didn't have the memories, but the _feelings,_ they were still there, strong as ever."

"Bucky. What are you saying?"

Bucky didn't speak, just looked at Steve with so much anticipatory hope and fondness. Then he tilted his head, moving forward slowly, and Steve's body knew how to respond to that motion like it knew how to take a breath, so it was without any thought at all that he moved his own lips forward to meet Bucky's in a kiss.

It was exactly as he remembered. The shape, the taste, the way their lips moved together, exploring and expert at the same time. When they finally broke apart, Bucky held him by the nape of his neck, pressing their foreheads together. Steve choked out a sob, overwhelmed.

"Aw, Steve," Bucky murmured, a light laugh escaping his lips. "The hell are you crying for?"

"I didn't think we'd ever have this again," Steve replied. "I mean, God, I've just been grateful to have you back at all. And now this..." Steve didn't have the words to express how he felt, so he poured it all into the next kiss he gave Bucky, deep and long and leaving no doubt about how much he loved him.

When they parted, Bucky took his hands and stood them both up. Steve gave him a confused look as he sprawled himself on the bed, tugging Steve down with him.

"I don't know if we can both fit anymore," Steve said, chuckling as he tried to maneuver himself.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Just come here." He guided Steve onto him so that he laid with his head on Bucky's chest, legs tangled together and bent up so they wouldn't dangle over the edge of the mattress.

Steve let out a contented sigh. If he closed his eyes, it was 1941 again. The secure feeling of Bucky's arms around him. The rhythm of Bucky's heartbeat in his ear as he laid against his chest.

Bucky idly ran his fingers through Steve's hair. "How long do you have here?"

Steve swallowed, dread rising up in him, an awful, selfish feeling. "A couple hours maybe?"

"Can we just stay like this until then?"

Steve didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and held Bucky tight.

 


	2. Part II

PART II

 

Steve woke to the bright lights of Shuri's lab. He winced, trying to push aside his disappointment. He felt exhausted, drained and weak in a way he hadn't felt his last time coming out of the Soul World. Shuri and Tony each took an arm, helping him sit up. He noticed they both looked particularly troubled.

"What is it?" he asked.

Shuri and Tony exchanged a look.

"I gave you enough elixir for four hours," Shuri said. "But you've been unconscious for seven."

Steve's eyebrows shot up. That was definitely possible; he couldn't say how long he'd been asleep.

Asleep in Bucky's arms. Bucky, who apparently loved him all this time.

"What were you doing in there, Dorothy?" Tony pressed. "Find out anything new about the Land of Oz?"

Steve pressed his lips together, considering. He didn't want to stay anything about what had happened between him and Bucky. He wasn't ready for the inevitable onslaught of shock and questions that he knew his teammates would have at the revelation that Captain America and Bucky Barnes were queer and in love with each other. Besides, he couldn't have anyone thinking he was compromised; he _needed_ keep going into the Soul World.

"I saw T'Challa," Steve said, turning to Shuri, bringing up the one piece of news he could share. "It looks like him and all the other Wakandans who disappeared are inside the Soul World version of Wakanda. He's had his people check things out, and it looks like there's no way to get anywhere else. The jungle just goes on without end. And they can't send a message out either; phone lines go dead and electronic messages fail to send."

Tony's face darkened. Steve knew he'd been hoping to be able to find something out about Pepper.

"Anything about finding a way out?"

"Just outside the city we thought might be important as some kind of transition point. Bucky and I went with T'Challa and as soon as we crossed into the city, he and the transport disappeared, and all of a sudden it was just me and Bucky riding a cab through the Holland Tunnel. There were people in New York, but… I don't think they were real. Just illusions made by the Stone."

Tony rubbed his chin, looking thoughtful. "How can you be sure Barnes and T'Challa aren't illusions too?"

"They're real," Steve snapped immediately.

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, look, all I'm saying is we're way out of our depths with this kind of mystical power. This Stone could be capable of anything."

Shuri nodded. "The elixir behaved unexpectedly today. We must be careful."

Steve thought back on Thor's words from earlier: _The sentience within the Soul Stone is especially selective of who it deems worthy of its power_.

The implication that the Stone had a will of its own was unnerving. Was it manipulating him already? Showing him the the man he loved and the home he thought was lost just to ensnare him?

Steve decided it didn't matter.

"Well there's only one way we're gonna find out more. I want to keep going in."

*

Steve was surprised when, next time he entered the Soul World, he found Bucky outside with the few goats that had also fallen victim to Thanos's snap. He half-expected Bucky to still be in New York, but that wouldn't have made sense. He had neighbors and friends in this village, he had his goats and a little plot of land to tend to. His only company in the city would be illusions and old memories.

Bucky looked up as he approached, giving him a smile that was bright as sunshine and made Steve's heart skip a beat. Bucky _loved_ him. It had been days since Bucky's revelation, but Steve was still high on the joy of his most secret, desperate wish coming true.

"You're not an hallucination, are you?" Steve blurted after Bucky met him for a kiss, familiar and tender, like they'd never stopped.

"I'm flattered you think I'm too good to be true."

Steve snorted "Yeah, alright, you're real." He jerked his head toward the goat Bucky was handling. "Which one's that? Dopey?"

"Nah, Dopey's back on your side. This one's Sneezy."

"How is it you remembered the names of all Seven Dwarfs, but not the fact that we were in love with each other?"

"Must've had my priorities straight."

"You're an ass," Steve said, smiling and shaking his head. He leaned against the side of the hut, watching as Bucky tended to the goats. He wore a simple, Wakandan-style tunic without sleeves so that the defined muscles of his right arm and the gilded vibranium of his left were on full display. Bucky had been a city boy through and through; his new role as a farmer was almost laughable except for the obvious peace it brought him.

"I have a surprise for you," Bucky said when he set aside the last pail of milk. He jerked his head motioning for Steve to follow him. "C'mere."

He trailed after Bucky around to the other side of the hut and blinked in surprise at the sight of a motorcycle parked there. _His_ motorcycle. The one from the war.

"Where did this come from?"

"Found it parked outside our apartment after you disappeared."

Steve was torn between jubilation at the sight of his old motorcycle and trepidation at yet another display of the Soul Stone's apparently boundless power. He climbed astride the bike. Just sitting in the seat and gripping the familiar handlebars made his heart race; it took him back to the countless Commando missions he'd undertaken with this bike.

"Get on," he told Bucky.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but made no protestation as he settled onto the seat behind Steve, plastering himself against Steve's back, arms tight around his waist. When Steve started the engine and steered them forward, Bucky rested his chin on Steve shoulder and yelled over the engine roar, "Where're we going?"

Steve thought about it for a moment -- he hadn't gotten on the bike with any real destination in mind, just knew that he needed to ride it again. An idea occurred to him and he glanced back at Bucky with a wide grin. "Taking my best guy for a proper date."

*

When they turned onto Surf Avenue, Bucky let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "No fucking way. You sap."

Steve said nothing, just smirking as they passed the neon signs along the waterfront that advertised food and rides and amusement. He took them another mile down the street before he parked in front of Nathan's Famous. Stepping off the bike, he grinned up at the familiar green and yellow sign and then looked back at Bucky, who was staring around them in amused awe. When he noticed Steve staring at him, he smiled and stepped closer.

"Hey," Bucky said softly. "All these people are just illusions, right? I mean, I've got a metal arm and clothes that look straight from the pages of the New Testament, but nobody's looked at me twice. So. I don't think anything will happen if we do this." He reached over and took Steve's hand in his, intertwining their fingers. He glanced up at Steve, looking a little uncertain but smiling all the same.

The profoundness of that moment was not lost on Steve; Bucky had been so afraid before, and him taking Steve's hand right then, in the middle of the crowded boardwalk, was monumental. He gripped Bucky's hand tighter, and Bucky just let out a relieved, joyful laugh, pulling them across the street to the Nathan's ordering window. Steve inhaled a deep breath, taking in the scent of seawater mingled with the warm, greasy smell of hotdogs and burgers.

"I'll have one with ketchup and onion," Bucky told the cashier. Steve stepped forward, about to say his own order, but Bucky went on, jerking his thumb at Steve. "And he'll have one with mustard, relish, and double onion."

Steve couldn't help the way his whole body suddenly filled with warmth. It was silly, really. It was his _hot dog order_. But Bucky remembered.

"You make a face, you know," Bucky said when they stepped to the side to wait for their hot dogs, still holding hands. "Whenever I remember something from before. You look like you can't decide if you're gonna start crying or give me a hug."

Steve didn't deny it because, really, that was the exact dilemma he felt every time.

They got their hot dogs and walked along the boardwalk. Sometimes, one of them would point out something -- a sign, a ride, a game -- and bring up the memory it dislodged. Mostly though, they were quiet, just reveling in the simple joy of being in one another's company.

Steve tried not to think about his impending return to the real world. He really couldn't say how much time he had this trip; Shuri had given him a smaller dose, but if they'd learned anything from last time, it was there was no way of calculating precisely how long he would spend in the Soul World. So he held Bucky's hand tight and let himself be lost in the reverie of Coney Island.

The found themselves sitting at the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the edge just like when they were kids. They pressed close together, Bucky resting his head on Steve's shoulder. Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"I always wanted to do that, you know. Walk through Coney Island with you like sweethearts."

Bucky lifted his head, burgeoning hope showing plainly in his eyes, shining through decades of regret. In a motion so forceful and sudden it nearly knocked Steve backwards, Bucky pressed his lips hard against Steve's. Steve kissed back with equal passion, knowing the unspoken message of adoration they were each trying to convey as they clung to each other and kissed desperately. Apologies for time lost. Promises for what they were forging now.

They sat silently for a long while after. Steve stared out at the horizon and tried not to be disturbed too badly by the amber reflection of the sky in the water.

*

Later, as they rode through the city streets, Bucky nudged Steve's thigh with his knee and said, "Turn left up there and park on the street."

Steve was confused but did as Bucky said. He was familiar with this neighborhood, knew the street Bucky was having him turn onto. It was mostly apartments, a couple greengrocers, a dance hall on the corner--

Oh.

"Bucky, no," Steve said. His protest was half-hearted; he was already pulling over along the sidewalk. "The serum fixed a lot of things, but my dancing was not one of them."

Once he turned off the bike's engine, Steve could hear laughter and excited voices coming from the hall as saxophones and percussion filled the street with music. It sounded like a regular Friday night. It suddenly occurred to Steve that the Soul World sky, perpetually orange with no sun, never gave any indication whether it was night or day. It made him uneasy that a reliable concept of time appeared to be absent from this place, but he could hardly dwell on it before Bucky was all but dragging him toward the dance hall.

"You said you'd always wanted to go to Coney Island together. Well, I always wanted a dance with my best guy."

Steve melted at that. Dazed and happy, he followed Bucky into the hall. It was a large open room with a long bar at one end and a big band playing onstage at the other. Steve recognized the song at once, a boisterous jubilant tune that had been on the radio the entire summer of '43. People were all around them, dancing in pairs, laughing and drinking together in large groups. Bucky's expression was bright as he led Steve to the floor. Taking out girls might have been a farce, but Steve knew Bucky truly did love going out dancing.

Just like at Coney Island, nobody bat an eye at them as Bucky put one hand on the small of Steve's back and used the other to take his hand. He rocked them back and forth to the music, an easy and simple motion. Steve knew Bucky was holding back, going easy on him. Bucky could Shag and Lindy Hop like it was nobody's business, and meanwhile, even this simple rocking was on the outer limits of Steve's dancing capacity.

Still, Bucky looked like he was having a great time, eyes twinkling with delight as he spun them to the music, and so Steve couldn't help but feel his infectious happiness too. He thought back to all the times Bucky had dragged him on double dates and how he only had eyes for Bucky the whole night, watching the easy way he laughed and flirted as he spun dames around the dance floor. The man who held him now -- long-haired and bearded with a metal arm and eyes that had borne unspeakable horrors -- was almost unrecognizable as the drawling, sharp-dressed boy he used to fantasize about. But Steve loved him all the same. Loved him even more, really. The things they'd gone through, together and apart, had turned the fumbling passions of youth into steadfast devotion.

The song ended and a new one began, a languid, soft tune. Bucky pulled Steve in closer so they were barely inches apart, leading him in a slow circle.  A female singer started crooning into the microphone, her voice smooth and sweet like honey.

_"I'll be seeing you, in all the old familiar places."_

It occurred to Steve how out of place he and Bucky looked, their clothes and appearance all belonging to another place, another _time_ . The familiarity of this place was comforting, but Steve knew deep down that, if it came to it, he wouldn't want to go back, _couldn't_ go back. He didn't belong here, not anymore. When he'd first woken from the ice, he would have given anything to go back in time, but now he realized it wasn't the old streets or Coney Island or the music that Steve had been aching for so badly.

"I missed you," Steve said.

Bucky gave him a curious look, mouth twisting into a teasing smile. "Steve, you were only gone a couple of days."

"No, I mean, before. When I first came out of the ice and still thought you were dead. All I wanted to do was go back to our apartment and sit on our couch and draw cartoons while you listened to the radio. I used to dream about going back, all the time. And then you were alive. And then I found you again and Shuri fixed you and I had you _back_ . And I stopped dreaming about going home because home wasn't a year or a city or an old apartment. Home was _you_. It's always been you."

Bucky brought his forehead to rest against Steve's, still dancing slow and easy. "You're my home too. Always have been."

The next song was another fast one, and this time Bucky tried to get them to be a little more adventurous, moving his feet faster as he held Steve's hands in his, occasionally letting go only to spin back in Steve's arms in a complicated display of footwork.

Steve just laughed, trying his best to keep up, until he suddenly felt a profound, urgent _pull_ . What was more startling though was the _splitting_ feeling that immediately followed, like a tug-of-war on his whole being. He felt tethered this place, a sensation that hadn't happened last time, and whether it was from that grounding or through his sheer own will, he found himself resisting the pull back to reality. He couldn't hold it back indefinitely, the force of it was overwhelmingly strong, but he could give himself enough time to say a proper goodbye.

"Bucky. The elixir is wearing off. I'm being pulled back."

Bucky stopped dancing at once, reaching out to cradle Steve's face in his hand, looking forlorn. "Shit."

"I'll come back. I promise, I'll come back." And he just managed to press a quick kiss to Bucky's lips before the force of the real world's pull overwhelmed him and Bucky, the music, and the dancers all disappeared in an instant. 

*

He woke up to Shuri frowning down at him.

"That was four hours."

"That's good, right? Not longer than last time."

"I gave you half the dose."

Her mouth was set in a worried frown, and Steve decided against telling her about the short moment he'd resisted the pull back.

*

The following weeks passed in a strange haze for Steve.

As the world continued to deal with the fallout of Thanos's snap, he found himself spending an increasing amount of time on missions. Usually, he stayed close, assisting Wakandans with repairs and defending the border against those seeking to take vibranium. Occasionally though, he'd have to travel further, working to prevent HYDRA and AIM and other nefarious groups from filling in the power vacuums that had cropped up across the globe. It was exhausting work; Thanos may have wiped out half the population, but even with their limited numbers, the terrorist groups were formidable as ever.

Shortly after Steve had taken his first dose of the elixir, Thor took Rocket and Nebula with him to track down any surviving Asgardians and find out more about the Infinity Stones. Rhodes returned to the United States to lend a hand there. Bruce spent most of his time in Birnin Zana, assisting Shuri's research team and aiding in the relief efforts. So that left Steve, Natasha, and Tony to go on missions.

It was just the three of them until one day, they emerged from the quinjet after arriving for a mission in Japan, and Clint Barton was standing on the runway waiting for them.

"Laura and the kids didn't make it," was all the explanation he offered.

So they were a team again. Steve hadn't realized how badly he'd missed it.

When he wasn't on a mission or aiding with the cleanup in Wakanda, he was in the Soul World.

Steve couldn't say exactly when, but at some point, he knew the purpose of his trips had transitioned from a genuine effort to learn more about the Soul World to spending time with Bucky. Shuri seemed to have realized this as well, and she eventually stopped asking him to report on what he'd seen.

One day, she simply approached him, a vial of the elixir in hand, and told him, "I'm tired of you playing Sleeping Beauty in my lab all day. We aren't learning anything new about the Soul World, and you're spending over seven hours there at a time. But if you insist on visiting Bucky, maybe it's best if you go when you're about to sleep anyways."

So he spent his days saving the world, and on the nights he spent in the safety of the Wakandan royal palace, he'd ingest a drop of the elixir, close his eyes, and find himself back in that familiar grass field.

Steve realized quickly that the Wakandans who ended up in the Soul World were trying to make the best of their circumstances, forging on with their lives as best they could, and Bucky was following suit. So whenever Steve visited, he followed along with Bucky's simple routine. He accompanied him when he brought his goat milk and cheese to the marketplace. They took walks along the lake outside his hut. They entertained the village children.

Occasionally, they would take Steve's bike and drive into the city. Sometimes just to have dinner at an old favorite haunt or walk along the shore at Coney Island or Rockaway Beach. Mostly though, they just drove through the familiar streets, getting lost in the nostalgia and each other's presence. As the days passed, Steve found himself less and less enthused to spend time in their old New York. It didn't matter whether they spent their day at Coney Island or the village marketplace, all he wanted was Bucky.

And he had Bucky, in all the ways he'd missed him. The first time he came back after Coney Island and the dance hall, Bucky had greeted him with heady, lustful kiss and trailed his hand down Steve's abdomen to the front of his pants. He'd palmed between Steve's legs through the fabric and whispered, "Can I?"

"Anything you want," was all Steve had said and a moment later Bucky was on his knees proving his memories of all the little ways to take Steve apart had come back

Some things were new, though. The next time, when Steve returned the favor, Bucky, no inhibited by fears of thin walls and nosey neighbors, didn't hold back any of his desperate gasps and moans as Steve took him in his mouth. Steve had never seen him so _wrecked_ and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of life chasing those sounds from Bucky's lips.

*

Because the sky remained a constant, eerie orange, everyone in the Soul World operated on their own arbitrary schedule. So Steve wasn't too surprised when he walked into Bucky's hut and found him dead asleep. He hovered in the doorway, looking fondly at him. Bucky sprawled shirtless across the bed, hair disarrayed, mouth half open as he snored softly. He'd removed his prosthetic arm, setting it aside in its case on the table.

Trying not to make a sound, Steve stripped off his own shirt and shoes and settled in next to him. Though he was careful to make as little disturbance as possible, the years had turned Bucky into a light sleeper and his eyes flew open, wide and alert, as soon as Steve laid down. He jerked and then, seeing it was just Steve, gave a sleepy smile and hooked his arm around Steve's middle, pulling him close enough to rest his head on Steve's chest. Without a word, he closed his eyes again and within a few moments, Steve could hear him snoring again.

Steve brought his hand to Bucky's head, absently brushing the long strands of hair. It was strange to lay like this, for Bucky to be curled against him, resting his head on _Steve's_ chest. Before, it had always been him who clung to Bucky, his small, slight frame slotting perfectly against Bucky's lean muscle. It made Steve happy to know that, no matter what body he was in, he and Bucky could still fit together.

Contented, he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Bucky's head before he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the soft sounds of Bucky's snores and the water lapping on the lakeshore outside.

*

Steve knew something was wrong before he even opened his eyes.

He felt tremendously groggy, and at several points across his chest, he could feel tiny pin pricks like small needles piercing his skin. Somewhere beside him, a monitor beeped frantically. He definitely wasn't still in Bucky's bed or even his own room. He bolted up only to have someone place a steadying hand on his chest.

"Easy there, Cap," Tony said.

Steve settled back on the mattress, looking down at his bare chest. Several tiny metal disks, no larger than a fingernail, were stuck to his skin.

"What the hell are these?"

Tony looked at him, frowning. "Those little guys are a Princess Know-It-All invention meant stimulate cardiac nerves to create an artificial heartbeat. They're on there because your heart stopped in the middle of the night."

Steve felt his throat close. "What?"

"Last night, there was a riot in the city. A few members of the Border Tribe angry at the Royal Family for letting Thanos's army into their land. They set a residential building on fire and Shuri asked us the help out with rescue. You weren't responding to your comm, so Natasha went to your room and..." Tony shook his head, letting out a shaky, humorless laugh. "You weren't moving. You weren't breathing. We thought you were _dead_.  But when we brought you to medical, they were able to detect neurological activity and your other organs still running. So they started your heart back up again."

"It was the elixir, wasn't it?" Steve said tightly. "Being in the Soul World."

"We contacted Thor." Tony's mouth pressed into a thin line. "He thinks the Stone may be trying to trap you inside it, taking your soul for itself, and the more time you spend there, the more it pulls you away from the real world."

_What if I let it?_

Steve felt ashamed immediately just for thinking it.

He sighed, letting his head fall back on the pillow. He'd known for a while there was something unnatural about the effect that Stone had on him, the way he was attached to the world it held. But he'd ignored it, knowing that if he acknowledged the danger, he might never see Bucky again.

"There's more," Tony went on, causing Steve to sit back up. "The rescue didn't exactly go smoothly. We got most of the people out, but-" Tony stepped sideways, giving Steve a full view of the occupied bed beside him.

Natasha.

She was unconscious, face and body mottled with bruises and burn marks, and an oxygen mask covered her mouth.

Steve grit his teeth, shaking with anger and overwhelming guilt.

"The doctors say she'll make a full recovery," Tony said, glancing over at her then back at Steve.

"I should have been there."

Tony gave him a long, considering look, but made no word of disagreement. Ashamed, Steve buried his head in his hands and only looked up when Tony spoke again. His words were soft, but they caught Steve's attention immediately.

"'Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes: best friends since childhood, inseparable on schoolyard and battlefield'," Tony mused, punctuating the oft-quoted tagline with an exaggerated wave of his hand. "It's quite a story, Rogers, but I have a feeling it's not exactly the whole story."

Steve felt like his body just went into freefall. "What are you talking about?"

"Look, I'm sure you've got twentieth-century-homophobia-related hangups out the ass -- pun absolutely intended -- but you can just admit it, you and the One-Armed-Wonder are more than best pals."

Steve considered lying, denying it and snapping at Tony for his presumption. He still wasn't sure if he was ready yet to bring what he and Bucky had to light while it was still in its delicate new beginning. But now that the Soul Stone revealed just how dangerous it was, Steve needed someone to know why, even now, he was still thinking of going back, needed someone to understand how impossible it was for him to leave Bucky behind.

Steve sighed. "That obvious, huh?"

"Well, you were just a _tad_ touchy about the whole Vienna situation. And there's the fact that you two are literal, actual soulmates."

"I don't know what to do, Tony. I can't leave him. I can't."

"Yeah, uh, thing is…,"Tony looked at him almost apologetic. "When we got Thor's message, Shuri confiscated your vial of elixir and destroyed the whole supply."

Steve's heart dropped to his stomach. It was like Bucky dying all over again. They had no other plan to reverse Thanos's snap; if he never saw Bucky again...

"Which is why," Tony continued, "it's lucky I like to keep samples of all my experiments." He reached into his pocket and set a vial of swirling liquid on the bedside table.

Steve gaze flit between Tony and the vial, the implication slowly dawning on him. "If I take this, I might not come back. Why would you do this? "

"Because if I were you, and that was Pepper in there, I'd down that vial like a half-priced tequila shot. You're a better man than I am, Rogers, and I know what you _think_ the right thing to do is, but...  you still deserve a choice."

And with that, he got up and left Steve alone.

In the end, Steve didn't down the entire vial, but he did press it to his lips just enough to ingest barely a drop.

He didn't know what he was doing. Didn't know whether he was going drink the rest of the bottle another time or never touch the stuff again. All he knew was that he had to see Bucky again, in case it really would be the last time.

When Steve walked into the hut and saw Bucky sitting at the table slicing fruit, he tried for a smile. Bucky saw through it immediately, setting down the knife with a frown and crossing the short distance between them to gather Steve in his arms.

"What is it?"

Steve didn't know where to start. Natasha getting hurt when he should have been there. His own heart stopping in the middle of the night. The Stone trying to claim his soul.

He decided he didn't want to talk about any of it. Not yet.

Instead, he cupped Bucky's face in his hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Bucky melted into it immediately, his own hand coming up to hold the back of Steve's neck as their lips came together again and again in short, desperate bursts. Steve started walking Bucky toward the bed, planting deep, heady kisses on Bucky's lips, his jaw, his throat. With every press of his lips to Bucky's skin, he imbued every ounce of love he had. Bucky had to know, had to feel how much Steve loved him, just in case...

Steve shoved that line of thinking away when they reached the bed and he positioned himself over Bucky as they fell onto the blankets. Steve leaned over him, trailing kisses along his collarbone, down his chest, making sure to give special attention to the scarring on his left side. He untied Bucky's tunic as he went, and Bucky tipped his head back, eyes closed and breath hitching as Steve moved down the length of his now-bared chest and abdomen, single-minded in his mission to pour decades of emotion in this stolen moment.

When Steve's mouth brushed along the line of dark hair that trailed from his navel to between his legs, Bucky reached out and pressed his flesh hand to Steve's cheek, gently guiding his face up to meet his concerned eyes.

"Steve. You gotta tell me what's wrong."

Steve sighed, moving off of Bucky and settling back on his knees. Bucky sat up so they were at eye level, taking Steve's hands in his.

They were silent for a long time before Steve said, "The Soul Stone is trying to trap me here. Take my soul. Every second I spend here, my connection to the real world gets weaker until eventually I won't be able to go back."

Bucky looked at him, gutted. "Steve…"

"Last night, there was a riot in Birnin Zana. Shuri called on the team for help, and when I didn't respond to my comm, they came to get me and my heart had stopped. They had to hook machines to me, just to keep me alive."  He grimaced. "Nat got hurt. Bad. She'll recover, but it shouldn't have happened. I should have been there, if they had another set of hands--"

"You can't blame yourself."

"It isn't just that. It's a disaster out there, Buck. What Thanos did… the whole planet's in chaos. They need the Avengers. They need _me_. I can't abandon the world. But I can't--" Steve broke off, throat tightening and tears stinging in his eyes. He shifted closer to Bucky and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning in so their foreheads touched. He closed his eyes, letting tears fall. "I don't know what to do. I can't lose you. Not again."

Bucky pulled back and reached out to wipe the wet streaks from Steve's cheeks. Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky looked on the verge of tears, lip trembling ever so slightly as he brushed his knuckles gently along Steve face.

"You have to go, Steve."

He said it in hardly more than a whisper, but the words still hit Steve like a punch to the gut.

"I can't leave you."

Even as he said it, a pang of guilt came over him, his thoughts flashing to Natasha and their fractured team.

"Steve, I love you more than anything. And I know you love me. But you also love being a hero. You love the fight. You can't live without it. Never could."

"Bucky, you're _everything_. How can you even--"

"I know, I know," Bucky soothed. "But this thing we got? If we want an honest to god chance at making it work, it can't be like this, not with guilt and resentment hanging over you. You won't be happy. _We_ won't be happy."

Steve wanted to protest, wanted to say that of course he'd be happy spending the rest of his life in this world with Bucky. But Bucky knew him like a book, knew even the most awful, darkest parts of him, knew truths like this that made Steve absolutely hate himself.

So when Steve spoke again, it was both promise and surrender:

"I'm never gonna stop looking for a way to bring you back."

"I know," Bucky whispered. "God, I know."

And then they were on each other, kissing long and deep and frenzied, hands exploring over one another's bodies, stripping off clothes as they moved together. The time for speaking was over; the things they needed to convey to each other now couldn't be said with words.

When they were both naked, Steve straddled Bucky's hips, and they took each other's cocks in their hands, stroking in deft, tender motions. Bucky looked at Steve, pupils blown, and said in a broken, desperate whisper:

"I want you inside me. Please."

Steve looked down at Bucky spread out beneath him, whole body flushed red, cock hard and leaking in Steve's hand. They'd never done it like that before, and the idea sent a shiver of arousal through his whole body. He pulled Bucky in for a short, lustful kiss before reaching over to grab the bottle of slick beside the bed.

Bucky made to turn over on his stomach, but Steve stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I want to look at you."

The _one last time_ went unspoken, but Bucky seemed to understand, giving Steve a tender look as he settled back down, knees bent and apart.

Heart pounding, Steve settled between Bucky's legs and rested a slickened hand on his thigh. "Alright?"

Bucky gave a jerky nod, his whole body trembling. Steve gave his inner thigh a final caress before he pushed a single finger in, slow and careful. Bucky gasped and Steve felt him tense and then gradually relax as he pressed further in, stretching him gently as he went. When Bucky's breathing leveled completely, he added another finger, still keeping his movements slow and gentle.

Bucky shifted beneath him, arching his back up ever so slightly with a low hum in his throat. "Do it now, Steve. I'm not gonna--" His cock was flushed and straining against his belly now.

Steve made a final motion with his fingers and then pulled them out, reaching for the bottle of slick again. He stared down at Bucky as he stroked himself, wanting to take in every detail. The glow of his skin. The way his hair fanned around his face like a halo. The red of his lips, the blue of his eyes. He never wanted to forget this sight.

Unable to contain himself, he leaned over and gave Bucky a final kiss before lining himself up and pushing in, as slow and gentle as he'd done with his fingers. Bucky let out a low moan, mouth slack and head falling back as he closed his eyes and gripped the sheets tight. Steve couldn't help the pleased sounds that escaped his own lips; Bucky was gloriously warm and tight around him.

Steve gave an experimental thrust and Bucky cried out, canting his hips up to meet Steve's movement. They fell into a rhythm like that, moving together. Steve was overwhelmed by it all, the physical sensation of Bucky's tight heat, the decades worth of love he felt brighter than ever in that moment.

He started sobbing, openly, unabashed. And Bucky began to cry, too. The both of them a mess of adoration and pleasure and sadness.

They came together. Bucky first, without warning, in violent streaks all over his stomach and chest. And the sight of that put Steve right over the edge.

Still crying, they clung to each other, naked and without a care for the sticky mess between them.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," they whispered over and over again into each other's skin. It was all they could say. It was all they needed to say.

"I love you , I love you, I love you."

It was the last thing Steve said before he felt that all-too-familiar tug and everything disappeared.

  



	3. Part III

 

PART III

Steve set the vial down on Shuri's workbench. Her eyes went wide.

"Where did you--"

"Doesn't matter. Just destroy it. Please."

He walked out and made it three steps out the door before he broke down sobbing.

*

Steve moved what little belongings he had from the palace guest suites to Bucky's hut outside the city. With the elixir gone, Steve found no other reason to be in such close proximity to the labs. If he was needed for a mission, they could page him.

He felt empty, hollow. The Stone might not have really taken his soul, but it still felt like everything inside him had been scraped out.

The only thing that kept him going was the drive to undo what Thanos had done, to keep his promise to Bucky. He made Shuri send him all the information she had on the Stones, everything she'd compiled from her own resources as well as what she'd gotten from Tony, Bruce and Thor. She'd given him a raised eyebrow, but she'd done it. Steve spent hours pouring over the information only to grow more and more frustrated with every file he read before finally coming to the awful conclusion that the only way to bring everyone back was to use the Stones again. Thor, Rocket and Nebula were listening to inter-galactic chatter for any leads on Thanos's location, but so far, nothing had turned up. The frightening reality was he could be _anywhere_ in the vast universe and they didn't have the slightest clue. There was no magical device Shuri and Tony could engineer, no army he could fight that would bring them back. The utter helplessness of the situation weighed heavy in his chest. When they'd come up against Thanos, he'd given every ounce of fight he had in him and still lost. Yet this, not being able to do anything at all, felt a thousand times worse.

He went through the motions, days blurring into each other. He took care of Dopey, Grumpy, and Bashful. He stopped arms dealers and terrorists. He laid in Bucky's bed each night, curled up in the scent of him that lingered in the sheets, and wept until exhaustion overtook him. Weeks went by and Steve started to think maybe the Stone really had succeeded in taking his soul; he felt like a ghost haunting the Earth, empty except for a single, vengeful mandate.

Steve was milking Grumpy one day when he noticed a figure approaching over the hill. He frowned. Nobody had visited him in over a month, having realized pretty quickly there was nothing they could do or say that would bring the life back into Steve.

As they got closer, Steve realized who it was.

" _Scott?_ "

*

Time vortex. Alternate realities. Duplicate stones. A new gauntlet.

Steve listened as Scott Lang regaled his tale of the subatomic space he'd been trapped in, a place that bound all of existence together and could serve as a gateway to any of the infinite alternate realities that existed. Realities that held their own Infinity Stones.

He called everyone to meet and a plan spun into being. Thor knew the original maker of the Infinity Gauntlet. Shuri had the vibranium to construct a new one safe for them to wield. Scott had the tech to enter the quantum realm and bring them to alternate realities.

They were going to do it.

*

They retrieved the space and mind stones from one of many parallel occurances of the Battle of New York.

Steve stared at his own alternate-past-self and wanted nothing more than to take him by the shoulders and scream, "Bucky's alive. He's alive, he's alive, he's _alive_."

*

The Power and Reality Stones came easily, a simple matter of stealing them away from their celestial hiding places.

After a hundred years, Steve really didn't think he had any real awe left in him, but standing on another _planet_ , looking up at the stars of a completely different solar system, managed to do it.

He wished more than anything Bucky could be there to see it.

*

The retrieved the Time Stone from a version of someone named Stephen Strange and he seemed to be expecting them, handing over the stone without a question, a knowing look on his face.

For a moment, Steve imagined all he could do with that Stone. He could go back to the Valkyrie. To the train in the Alps. He could stop Bucky from falling, they could win the war together, grow old together--

He stopped himself right there. A happy ending with Bucky was his future, not his past. 

*

The Soul Stone was more elusive.

"It has to be the same one Thanos used. Everyone's souls are held inside that stone; another from an alternate reality won't work.," Thor explained. "The stone's last known location was the planet Vormir. I can go using the Bifrost, and there might be a way to summon the Stone from there."

Without hesitation, Steve said, "I'll go with you."

So Thor raised his axe and with a spectacular, cackling burst of heated light and a rush that felt like the inside of a hurricane, the Bifrost brought them to the base of a jagged, rocky mountain. Water surrounded them on all sides, shallow and impossibly still. Even at water level, the air was thin and frigid in a way that acutely reminded Steve of being up in the Alps during the war.

He looked up, noticing pillars at the top of the mountain, silhouetted against brilliant, violet clouds that spanned across the entire sky and eclipsed the massive sun.

They'd made it to Vormir.

Steve tightened his grip on his shield as he and Thor wordlessly made their way up the mountain. The path was steep and treacherous -- but not impossible. About halfway through their trek, Steve realized a certain deliberateness in the arrangement of the rocks and outcroppings that ran up the side of the mountain: the path was not easy but it was still a _path,_ forged purposefully by someone. He wasn't sure if this meant he was getting closer to the Soul Stone or just falling into a trap, a sentiment he was far too familiar with lately.

When they reached the top, Thor turned to him and smirked.

"Getting sleepy?"

"Nah," Steve panted. The air was even thinner at this high altitude. "Just getting warmed up."

They came to a shallow ravine, walls of solid rock on either side of them forming a clear, curving path ahead. He was just about to take a step forward when a dark, hooded figure suddenly appeared. The figure spoke in a voice that echoed against the stone walls around them and sent a paralyzing chill to every nerve in Steve's body.

He _knew_ that voice. He was _haunted_ by the voice.

_"Captain America. I suppose it is inevitable that we should face each other again."_

The figure pulled back his hood and even though Steve knew what he was about to see, that didn't stop him from feeling like he'd been dropped straight into a nightmare at the sight of blood-red skin pulled taut over a hollow face.

"What the hell is this?" Steve braced his shield in front of him, half-tempted to believe he was hallucinating.

Red Skull just sneered and Thor looked between them, axe held aloft and ready. "You know this creature?"

"Seventy years ago, he used the Tesseract to power weapons." Steve's jaw tensed. "I thought it killed him."

"That would have been _merciful_ ," Red Skull said. "And the Stones are anything but. For my arrogance, the Space Stone banished me here, to guide those who seek the Soul Stone."

"You gave it to Thanos," Steve snapped. "And he used it to wipe out half the universe."

"It is not my place to pass judgment on those who seek the Stone."

"Can you tell us where it is now?"

"No. And even if I could, that knowledge would be useless to you. You cannot simply steal it from Thanos. The Soul Stone only bends to the will of those who have proven themselves." Red Skull turned away, gesturing for them to follow him.

Steve and Thor exchanged wary glances but trailed behind Red Skull, moving along the stone path until they stood on a open ledge. It looked like the ruins of an ancient shrine, broken pillars and crumbled stone scattered all around them.

"The Stone requires a sacrifice," Red Skull went on, inclining his head toward the edge of the precipice. Steve stepped to the edge and looked down. His stomach gave a sickening lurch at the sight of a body splayed out on a stone dais hundreds of feet below.

"That's Gamora," Thor said, voice thick with rage and sadness. "She was Thanos's daughter."

Red Skull nodded. "The Stone demands that which you love and Thanos paid the price. If you do the same, the Stone will present itself to you."

Steve almost laughed aloud at the cruel simplicity of it, at the irony of it. There would be no final chase, no final match against Thanos. They could have the stone in an instant except that it asked the impossible of them. Of Thor, who was alone in this world. Of Steve, whose only love was already in the Stone's clutches.

Except Bucky wasn't his only love.

_You also love being a hero. You love the fight. You can't live without it. Never could._

Steve suddenly knew exactly what he needed to do. The solution was so perfectly, absolutely clear to him, he felt almost possessed by it, like some kind of divine force was guiding his next movements.

He pulled his shield from his arm and held it out over the edge of the cliff with both hands.

He took a deep breath and released his grip.

As he watched it fall, Steve felt a strange sort of lightening in his chest. It was the same feeling he'd had when his mother died; even as he'd sobbed for her loss, he was relieved her suffering was over.

Despite how high up they were, Steve still heard the shield hit the ground with an audible _crack_ as vibranium met solid rock.

In that same instant, the sky above them exploded in a blinding flash of white light.

The light disappeared as instantaneously as it had come and Steve found himself lying flat on his back in the shallow water that surrounded the mountain. The chill of it sent goosebumps over his entire body, and with a start, he realized he was _naked_.

He sat up gingerly, slowly becoming aware of a growing tightness in his chest, each breath becoming more painful than the last. He knew that pressure, knew that ache. They were old friends of his, older than even Bucky.

He was having an asthma attack.

Panic began to set it, seizing his already compromised lungs and making his breath come out in shallow gasps.

"Steve?"

Thor knelt beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder, and the feeling of it was all wrong. Steve's whole shoulder and upper arm fit in Thor's grasp. He could feel Thor's rough fingers hard against the sharp, protruding bones of his shoulder blades, his collarbone.

He knew exactly what this was, what this meant, but it still shook him to the core when he looked down and saw the flat, pale plane of his chest and stomach, the sharp angles and sallow skin of his legs.

When he lifted his hands with the intention of seeing if his fingers were as spindly as the rest of him, he found he was clutching a glowing orange gemstone in his left palm.

He'd done it. Captain America was dead, and Steve Rogers had the Soul Stone.

He would have let out a triumphant laugh, if only he could breathe.

*

Thor brought them back to Wakanda and Steve fell into a daze as the medics fussed over him. They injected him with something that immediately eased the pressure in lungs and restored his breath and gave him a set of clothes in his new -- old?--  size.

He kept the Soul Stone clutched in this fist the entire time.

It was like he'd walked into a funhouse. Everything -- the machines, the furniture, the people -- all looked cartoonishly too tall. Colors were dulled, some totally indiscriminable, and the partial deafness in his right ear was back. It was a struggle to hear even _Tony_ speak.

"We can probably fix this. I mean, my old man was _this close_ to cracking Erskine's original formula. I bet if I dig into some old files--"

"You really think the world needs another bastardized version of that serum?" Bruce said softly.

Nobody said another word on the matter. That was fine. Steve had already made up his mind anyway.

*

They all went out to the field where the battle had taken place. Steve, Tony, Nat, Clint, Bruce, Thor, Shuri, Okoye -- they all gathered near the tree line. Shuri carried a simple black case and held it out to Steve, opening it to reveal a sleek vibranium gauntlet. It was a simple thing, ebony and matte with none of the gaudiness Thanos's had possessed. Five stones were already set in each of the knuckles; Steve still held tight to the Soul Stone.

Everyone stood around him, tense with anticipation. He took strange comfort in that; even diminutive as he was now, his team still looked to him with expectation, waiting for him to catalyze what would happen next.

He pulled the near-completed gauntlet over his right hand. It felt ridiculously loose over his slender fingers, but even with the awkward fit, there was no mistaking the way it vibrated with power. Raw energy, hot and electric, ran along his fingers, up his arm, down his spine, spreading over his entire body.

Steve looked around at everyone, meeting their anticipatory stares with a determined look of his own. Jaw set, he gave a short nod and set the last stone in the gauntlet.

Burning, untempered power seared through his veins, and he doubled over, falling hard on his knees and crying out at the sensation of it.

He was a _god_ . He knew everything, could see and hear everything. He could make anything, destroy anything, do anything, _be_ anything.

The limitless possibilities were an ocean before him, but he anchored himself to a single desire. The only thing he ever wanted since he knew what it meant to want.

He held to it like a lifeline and snapped his fingers.

*

The grass at Steve's feet turned to shallow, still water and the sky above him glowed orange.

Captain America stood before him, solemn and formidable as a statue. With his determined stare and classic star-spangled uniform, he looked like the mural at the Smithsonian, like the recruitment posters and film reels and the countless other paraphernalia. He held the shield aloft with one hand and gave Steve a salute with the other.

Steve saluted back.

 

 

 

*

 

Steve blinked, coming back to the grass and trees just as chaos erupted.

Wakandan soldiers appeared all around him, their bodies forming from dust that swirled around the whole field. They blinked and looked around in wonder, embracing and cheering, running toward the capital, toward the villages, toward their _homes_.

"Holy shit. We actually did it," Tony breathed, staring around, jaw slack. "I've got to-- Pepper must be-- And the _kid---_ " And he tore away, back toward the city.

Steve rose to his feet. They'd _done it_. And that meant…

He sprinted into the forest, moving as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. The others followed him, rushing toward that spot, that small clearing where--

"Steve?"

Steve whipped around as Bucky stepped out from the brush. Their eyes met and an electric moment passed between them, neither of them moving, frozen in place by awe and joy. And then they started toward each other, breaking out into wide grins, tears beginning to spill. When they were barely a foot apart, Steve leapt forward and Bucky caught his legs, pulling him up to hold him the way he used to, the way Steve had always loved. The kissed over and over again, clumsily, frantically pressing their lips to each other's mouths, to their cheeks, to their foreheads, any inch of skin they could get. Steve didn't care who saw, didn't care what anybody thought. All that mattered was Bucky.

" _I KNEW IT!_ " Shuri shrieked, and Steve and Bucky finally halted their kissing, bursting into teary laughter.

The others moved deeper into the woods and Steve could hear their reactions as they found more of their fallen comrades. T'Challa. Sam. Wanda. Even Vision was restored, just as Steve had willed. Still, Steve clung to Bucky, unwilling to break from their embrace just yet.

"What did you do?" Bucky murmured, trailing his fingers along the sharpness of Steve's cheekbones.

"The Soul Stone needed a sacrifice. I gave up the shield. Gave up Captain America. Gave up all of it. You were wrong, Buck. I _can_ live without the fight. It's you I can't be without."

Bucky just looked at him, fond and disbelieving, and drew him in for a deep kiss, tender and unhurried.

"What are you going to do now?" Bucky said when he pulled away.

Steve brought his hands up, cupping them around Bucky's jaw. He pressed his lips to Bucky's mouth then pressed them to his tear-streaked cheeks, kissing away the wetness.

"I'm gonna go home."

  



End file.
